Through The Eyes Of A Ranger
by KCEstel
Summary: The War of the Rings through the eyes of the unsung heroes.
1. Gathering Clouds

**Disclaimer;**  
Not mine. These characters belong to the late Professor J.R.R Tolkien and his estate. This is written for amusement and no money is being made.

**Claimer;**  
Arahael, Tarcil, Dídauar (Kalya)

**Notes, Warnings _etc;_**  
> I am only going to say this once. I do not mind constructive criticism, _i.e._ corrections for Elvish, grammar, spelling (I am Scottish so I am using _British_ English) but any flames I receive are deleted from my reviewers page and my email account.

> For those who have read **_Princess in the Fellowship_,** the character of Kalya has changed, in some cases **drastically**. I am going to try and tie this to **_Second Chance_** but it is very likely that a few ambiguities will remain since that story was written using the characters and timelines (which were _completely_ out-of-sync with Tolkien) of _Princess in the Fellowship_ as the premise.

> Kalya; I found the name in a Quenya dictionary which I have since been told is untrustworthy, but by that time it was an established name/character so I am _not_ changing it.

> Dídauar; Sindarin meaning 'women of the woods'

> This story is a mixture of movie, book and original. It maybe a Mary-Sue (I am still not sure of the definition so I can't say for sure) but is **_NOT_** a tenth walker. Dídauar/Kalya is a Dúnadan and will stay that way.

* * *

**Chapter One – Gathering Clouds**

Aragorn landed very ungracefully on his bed in the Last Homely House. He was exhausted and his body was far from impressed with his decision to fight five of the Nazgûl in rather quick succession. The joints of his right arm were making their disagreement felt most acutely.

Flexing his elbow in the feeble attempt at relieving the pain, Aragorn ran his meeting with Glorfindel over in his mind. The golden warrior had said news had reached Elrond that Frodo was in trouble and he had citied kinsman on the north side of the Brandywine River. The only Elves Aragorn knew that travelled that far were Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond's twin sons, but as of yet Aragorn had not seen them. Admittedly he had only been in the Valley for a few hours but normally, if they were home, the two greeted any guests with their father.

No matter. The important thing was that Elrond had found out and sent out search parties. Such an action had safeguarded the life of the Ringbearer and Aragorn did not wish to entertain the thought of what might have happened had they _not_ been found by Glorfindel.

"Do you want some Caynne ointment?" asked a voice behind Aragorn. The Dúnedain Chieftain spun his head in the direction of the speaker and his face split into a wide grin.

"Kalya," he whispered and sitting up, opened his arms to his sister. The younger child of Arathorn stepped into the embrace before settling on her heels between Aragorn's thighs. Leaning forward Aragorn rested his forehead against his twin's, his cobalt-blue eyes glittering in delight and relief.

'Guren linna gen cani,' he muttered. _(My heart sings to see you)_

'Lû ann bant,' replied Kalya. "I am so glad you are safe." _(it has been too long)_

Aragorn smiled and pulled back taking in the appearance of the one before him. Kalya was dressed in a flowing shirt, leaf-green in colour, along with liquorice black leggings and soft tan boots.

"How long have you been here?" asked Aragorn.

"October 9th," replied Kalya, watching Aragorn's eyes widen in astonishment. Kalya cocked her head in question.

"You gave the message," muttered Aragorn. "You're the kinsman north of the Brandywine."

Kalya nodded, which had Aragorn pulling her up and on to his bed.

"Your visions. Are they getting worse?" he asked. Kalya, like Elrond and her maternal grandparents, Ivorwen and Dírhael, before her had been 'gifted' with Sight. However, unlike Elrond, Ivorwen and Dírhael, Kalya saw events on a much smaller scale and thus in a lot more detail causing her more than a few nightmares as a child.

Kalya shrugged. "No more violent than normal."

"But?"

"They are getting more frequent," sighed Kalya. "But we are at war, it is to be expected."

"Have you spoken to Lord Elrond?" asked Aragorn. Kalya nodded.

"But there is little he can do," she said. "Don't worry Estel, this is not something new. Now, do you want the ointment?"

Aragorn gave a weak smile and let the subject drop. Kalya always had been more calm about her gift, though curse was probably a more apt description, than her brother but Aragorn suspected that was because she did not see herself enter a trance, and on the odd occasion completely lose consciousness, which could be rather scary.

"Caynne sounds perfect," he said, rolling up his sleeve.

* * *

Over the next few days, Imladris saw an increase in traffic as Elves, Men and Dwarves arrived in answer to summons by Elrond. The young Hobbits that Aragorn had brought to the haven were torn between running rampage, reminiscing with Bilbo and being depressed over Frodo's state of health. Samwise, had he not been so occupied with Frodo (and if he had a little more courage) would probably have given Mithrandir the third degree about leaving his master to carry the Ring when goodness knew what was on his tail. After three days however, Frodo was awake and back on his feet by the feasting ordered by Elrond in his honour. 

However, Aragorn and Kalya were not present at the celebration, Elladan and Elrohir having returned unexpectedly from their latest expedition and baring news which could not wait till the morning.

"Orcs are multiplying faster than before, the wolves have migrated south once more and the lesser tribes are becoming restless," reported Elladan.

"There is also talk of a traitor within our ranks," continued Elrohir.

"Who had turned?" asked Aragorn.

"The rumour is that Saruman had dealt with the Enemy but rumour is all it is," said Elladan dismissively. "Radagast the Brown has disappeared, last seen going East."

"Radagast does not fight," answered Kalya, folding her arms. "He is more one with nature than the Elves and will not willingly see it harmed. Nor would he willingly turn."

"None turn willingly, Kalya," said Elladan. "He is called 'The Deceiver' for a reason. Every man has his price."

"What would he offer Radagast?" asked Aragorn. "Land and power mean nothing to him." The Dúnedain twins had met the younger Istari on a couple of occasions while one their extensive travels of Arda. The wizard had been so restless it was almost impossible to envision him settling down anywhere, even in the middle of a forest where he would be surrounded by his beloved nature.

"Saruman on the other hand is a problem," the Chieftain continued.

"It is but a rumour," said Elladan. "He has ever been an ally to our peoples."

"Almost to willing in some cases," muttered Aragorn. While he had yet to see the advise of the White Wizard lead anyone astray, Aragorn did not fully trust a person who was not willing to leave the comforts of home to see how his 'subjects' faired.

"How much damage have the wolves done?" asked Kalya, redirecting their conversation. The last time the wolves of the Forodwaith had come south of Carn Dûm they had managed to kill Aragorn son of Aravir, but little had been seen of them since their retreat. Their packs were still feared, and were the Rangers equivalent of the 'boogie-man' used to scare children who were particularly deviant. To this day, the ranger twins could remember their mother telling them that unless they did as their Elven benefactors requested, the wolves would come and steal them away during the night.

"They are surprisingly keeping to themselves," said Elrohir. "News of the odd sighting has been passed by word of mouth but aside from tracks heading in the direction of Ettenmoors, nothing substantial has been seen. Halbarad has increased the number on patrol just to make sure migrate is all the wolves do."

Aragorn nodded while Kalya released a slow breath of relief. Halbarad was a very competent commander and, with his sons Tarcil and Arahael, he managed to keep peace in the northern territories and safe guarded the lives of the Shire Hobbits while Aragorn and Kalya wandered the length and breadth of Middle Earth. Until recent years, Halbarad had been in complete control of the Dúnedain but with the frequency of Kalya visions increasing both Aragorn and Elrond recommended that she stay in the north. Halbarad had immediately handed over the reigns of control.

The two sets of twins talked long into the evening about the situation in the Wilds until their conversation was halted by two things. First, Elrohir's stomach had growled in hunger and second, a loud strain of music had floated in through the window from the Hall of Fire which was situated directly below and south to the chambers.

"Mayhap we should continue this discussion in the morning?" suggested Kalya when Elrohir's stomach gurgled a second time. Elrohir looked relieved by that idea and enthusiastically nodded his head. The corners of Aragorn's mouth twitched in amusement while Elladan inclined his head to Kalya in agreement.

"Till the morning," he said and the four left the room, Elladan and Elrohir heading to the kitchens and Aragorn and Kalya making for the Halls of Fire.

* * *

The following morning saw Elrond, along with Erestor and Glorfindel of his household, Galdor of the Grey-Havens, Bilbo and Frodo of the Shire, Glóin and Gimli of the Lonely Mountain, Legolas of Mirkwood, both sets of twins and Mithrandir secluded away from the rest of the Valley in the porch where Frodo was reunited with his fellows the previous day. 

Also present was a man who sat apart from the rest. He was dressed in travel stained clothing and a baldric was slung across his left shoulder, the attached silver tipped horn sitting on his knee. He gazed around the balcony with suspicion heavy in his eyes, which changed to wonder when his gaze settled on Bilbo and Frodo. His name was Boromir, High Warden of the White Tower and Gondor's Captain-General.

Once all were seated, Elrond cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Welcome, welcome. Few have ever come hither on an errand more dangerous or one so urgent…."

There followed talk of numerous rumours that were spreading across the world, Glóin's tale of a Black Rider beseeching an audience with Dáin causing the first ripple of disquiet to move through those gathered.

Elrond told the tale of the formation of the Ring and the first War, which had Frodo gasp in surprise – he had not realised Elrond was old enough to remember the days of Gil-galad. Inevitably this led to discussing Isildur and Gondor. When such as subject was broached, Boromir stood proud and tall.

"Give me leave to speak of Gondor, Master Elrond," he requested. Elrond inclined his head for the Man of the South would undoubtedly know more about the plight of the land than any other gathered.

"Believe not that the blood of Númenor is spent in the South, nor that we have forgotten pride and dignity but we are hard beset against the Enemy which grows ever stronger," began Boromir straightening the baldric so that the horn sat about his hip. "Those who are sheltered behind us give us much praise but little help and only from Rohan will any come when we call, the Nameless One having taken Easterlings and Haradrim under his banner.

"On the eve of the last assault of Osgiliath, a dream came to my brother, Faramir, during a troubled sleep and afterwards to me. While the world around me grew dark, a pale light lingered on in the West. Out of the light sang a voice, distant yet clear;

_Seek for the Sword that was broken;  
In Imladris it dwells;  
There shall be counsels taken  
Stronger than Morgul-spells.  
There shall be shown a token  
That Doom is near at hand,  
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,  
And the Halfling forth shall stand._

"Our father, Lord Denethor, is a learned lore-master and he told us that Imladris was a Valley to the West of the Mountains where Elrond the half-Elven dwelt. So I have come to Imladris to seek the meaning of the dream."

"Here your dream will be made clear to you," assured Kalya, her eyes connecting with Elrond's in concern, bordering on worry. Years of understanding what her own visions meant had led to her being capable of resolving riddles with ease that she would not otherwise have. Elrond inclined his head slightly, the blurs and shadows he had seen also beginning to take a form that was recognisable.

"Here is the Sword that was Broken," said Aragorn, withdrawing the hilt and useless blade of Narsil. Boromir's gaze turned dispassionately to Aragorn and he critically examined his travelled and weather-worn clothing. His eyes flicked to the useless weapon, staring at it in wonder.

"And who are you?" he asked. "What have you to do with Minas Tirith?

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Beside him sits his twin sister, Dídauar," replied Elrond. "Together they are descended through many fathers from Isildur Elendil."

While Boromir continued to critically evaluate his future King and his sister, Frodo released a strangled yelp and got quickly to his feet.

"Then this belongs to you!" he exclaimed. Kalya shook her head while Aragorn smiled gently at the Hobbit who was suddenly looking fearful.

"It does not belong to any save the Dark Lord. But Fate had decreed you hold it for a little while longer," he said kindly.

"Bring out the Ring, Frodo," commanded Gandalf. "Hold it up and Boromir will understand the remainder of his dream."

Frodo, the Valar bless him, looked as though he would rather be anywhere _but_ the secluded balcony of the Last Homely House as he held up the Ring.

"Behold, Isildur's Bane," said Elrond. All eyes were fixed on Frodo and the young Hobbit was rowing increasingly embarrassed with the attention.

"Is the Doom of Minas Tirith so close?" exclaimed Boromir in what could be labelled fear.

"The words were not _the Doom of Minas Tirith_ but refer instead to the Doom of the world," said Kalya, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table before her. "The Sword before you is the sword which was broken beneath Elendil when he fell and then used to cut the Ring from its master's hand by his son, Isildur."

"I was sent only to seek the answer to a riddle," said Boromir, looking between the Ring and the Sword in both fear and wonder. "Not to seek a boon of the Elves. However, if such shadows of the past have taken form, then the Sword of Elendil would be of great benefit in our plight. Yet, how do we know that the shining band of gold in the hand of a Halfling is Isildur's Bane? He perished before this Age of the world began, Master Elrond has told such at this very counsel, yet the Wise claim it is his and has passed through the years to be brought by some stranger messenger."

Gandalf proceeded to cause an upset amongst the Elves by reciting what was written on the Ring, earning him a stern reprimand from Elrond, the Black Speech of Mordor being little short of a curse to the Elves. Gandalf caused further disgruntlement by refusing to apologise for his actions and continued with the 'evidence' that the Wise had concerning the authenticity of the Ring. This included Bilbo being called upon to tell his part in the Ring's tale and, as his heir and current Ringbearer, Frodo was required to finish the tale. After the two Hobbits had finished their respective stories, Elrond granted the small recess Bilbo had requested before he had begun his tale.

"You have that look in your eye again," muttered Aragorn turning to face his sister. Kalya cocked her head at him.

"Look?" she asked.

"Yes. It appeared when Boromir detailed his dream. What have we missed?" asked Aragorn.

"Things are not as black-and-wide as they have been made out to be," replied Kalya. "This war will not be won by force. In times of greatest need it is always the forgotten who deserve the greatest credit."

Aragorn chuckled. "You speak in as many riddles as your mentor!"

Kalya was saved commenting by Elrond returning to the head of the table and restarting the proceedings.


	2. Fate: signed and sealed?

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

As of this chapter, Kalya will be referred to as **Dídauar** within the _text_. Elrond's household and Aragorn will continue to call her **Kalya**. Later, once she is back with the Rangers she will be called either **Shadow** or Dídauar. Everything clear? Right on with the tale…..

* * *

**Chapter Two – Fate: Sign and Sealed?**

The counsel lasted till after noon, Gandalf being required to explain exactly where he had been since the beginning of June. His tale unfortunately confirmed that Saruman was the traitor of rumour, as well as revealing the fact that Gollum had escaped from his Mirkwood captors. Frodo paled considerably at Legolas' news and looked prepared to take back the Ring and turn tail back to the Shire.

Everyone present seemed to have a different opinion on what should happen to the Ring and who should carry out whatever was decided. The Dwarves were cautious about allowing the Elves to hold the future of Middle-Earth in their hands and the Elves were equally disagreeable to letting the Dwarves handle such a task.

Erestor, Glorfindel and Galdor were all in favour of keeping the Ring in hiding, preferably on the west side of the Mountains. Each of their ideas was negated almost immediately, mainly because they would only succeed in postponing the day that Sauron came to claim his prize. Boromir, who was a soldier through and through and ever concerned with the well-being of his own people above all else, was convinced that they could use the Ring against Sauron. This idea was also immediately vetoed.

"The Ring answers to one master only, and that master is Sauron. Should any of the Wise use this ring to over throw the Dark Lord, he will set himself upon his throne and darkness will fall on the land once more," said the Elf Lord.

"Mordor is nothing but a desolate wasteland, the air a poisonous gas. Not with an army of 10,000 stout hearted warriors could you manage this folly," said Boromir, still convinced that the destruction of the Ring was the last thing they should be looking to achieve.

"Do not look for victory through strength of arms," muttered Dídauar.

"The best option is for secrecy," said Gandalf. "It will not enter the mind of Sauron that if this Ring was within our possession that we will seek to destroy it! If this is what we seek then we have an advantage that we must snatch to be ensured any hope of victory."

"It is a dangerous path, and may even be the folly of which Boromir speaks, but it is one that must be trod. But who shall bear this burden?" asked Elrond, resting his elbows on the table before him and inter-lacing his fingers whilst gazing around at those gathered. Bilbo was on his feet the moment Elrond's gaze fell upon him.

"Say no more my Lord," he said. "It is plain what you are saying 'Bilbo the silly Hobbit started this. It is up to him to finish it, or himself!'" Frodo's eyes were in danger of falling out of his head upon hearing Bilbo's passionate declaration, Boromir smirked while the rest of the Counsel gazed at the elderly Hobbit with admiration. Gandalf smiled genially at Bilbo.

"My dear Bilbo, if you had started this affair you would indeed be expected to finish it, but your part in this tale ended seventeen years past," he said. "It is a valiant offer you make but one that is beyond your strength." Bilbo turned to the wizard with confusion written across his face.

"If it is not to be me, then who?" he asked. Silence answered his question. Somewhere in the House, a bell rang to signal noon and still no one moved.

"I will do it," said Frodo, suddenly standing, unable to bare the oppressive silence any longer. The counsel blinked, almost in unison, as the younger of the two Hobbits moved to stand beside his uncle.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor," reiterated Frodo determination shining in his eyes before a small flicker of doubt appeared. "Though, I do not know the way."

"_The Halfling forth_ _shall stand_," whispered Dídauar, the final piece of the puzzle slipping neatly into place for a majority of the those gathered.

"Once again the quiet people of the Shire rise from their peaceful lives to shake the towers and counsels of the great," said Elrond, gazing calmly at the Hobbit. "But it is a heavy burden, one that no one could lay upon another. Do you take this task upon freely?"

"I do," said Frodo with a curt nod. Suddenly a yelp went up from a shadowy corner where Sam had been sitting unseen during the proceedings. The counsel swung around to face the third Hobbit in surprise.

"Surely you won't send him off on his own, Master Elrond?" squeaked the Hobbit, blushing as he realised that he was caught sneaking _again_! Elrond chuckled.

"No indeed," said the Elf Lord. "You at least shall go with him, it being almost impossible to separate the two of you, even when he is summoned to a secret counsel and you were not!"

Sam blushed an even deeper red as he sat back down. "It's a nice pickle we've landed ourselves in Mister Frodo."

* * *

Upon the ending of the counsel, it was agreed that Frodo and Sam would set out on the Quest to destroy the Ring and that they would not travel alone. What wasn't decided was who and how many would make up the remainder of the company.

While Elrond, Erestor and Gandalf discussed the matter of who was to accompany Frodo and Sam, Aragorn and Dídauar had both joined scouting patrols along with several of their Rangers and the Imladrian Elves, extending as far west as Tharbar, east to Mirkwood, south to the Gladden Fields and north to the Ettenmoors. It appeared that the Black Riders had retreated along with the other servants of the Enemy and that Gollum was still evading their detection, much to Aragorn's disgust.

"The company will equal nine," declared Elrond when he had gathered all together once more, a morning in mid December. "The Nine Walkers of good, match the Nine Riders of evil. Frodo, with you and your companion shall go Gandalf, for he had toiled long in this endeavour and desires to see its conclusion. As to the rest, they will represent the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. For the Elves, Legolas shall travel with you and Gimli for the Dwarves. For Men, you shall have Aragorn, the subject of Isildur's Bane concerning him closely."

Frodo's eyes lit up at the mention of the Ranger. "Strider!" he exclaimed in delight. Aragorn smiled at him.

"Yes, I have been given leave to travel with you once more Frodo," he said.

"I would have _begged_ you to come but I thought you were going to Gondor with Boromir!" replied Frodo grinning with delight, the actual subject for their Quest apparently forgotten.

"I am," confirmed Aragorn, "But our paths lie together for several hundred miles so Boromir will also be one of our company."

"Two more remain to be decided," continued Elrond. "Of my household they might be found…."

"But that leaves no room for Merry and me!" protested Pippin in indignation.

"Or Dídauar," commented Sam. Dídauar smiled at the sandy hobbit.

"It is not my fate to set out with the company. My place is in the north for now," she said.

"We don't want to be left behind. We want to go with Frodo!" continued Pippin. Elrond raised an eyebrow at the gall of the youngest Hobbit. When Merry had lost his ability to either speak or think for himself, it was unclear but Pippin was determined that both of them would be going.

"That is because you do not understand the danger," he said gently.

"Nor do any of the others who are setting out," said Gandalf. "You could send someone like Glorfindel, yet to have him storm the Black Tower would not bring us the victory we desire."

"Friendship and trust will hold them truer to their path than any number of swords and arrows," agreed Dídauar. "Not even the Wise can tell where this path will end." Elrond considered the two.

"Your words are grave, yet I have doubts. In any case I would suggest that you, Peregrin Took, should remain. My heart is against your going."

"Then you will have to lock me in a cell or send me home tied in a sack," replied Pippin, folding his arms in defiance. Dídauar and Aragorn exchanged an amused look while Gandalf was preparing to clip the young Hobbit about the ear for his cheek. His fellows were embarrassed on his behalf and looked apologetically at Elrond. "Otherwise I _will_ follow the company."

Elrond sighed and shared a look with Gandalf who nodded once. "Very well, you shall go. In seven days the company will depart. The road will be long and hard and is shrouded mostly in shadow. I suggest that you use the time you have left to prepare for your journey."

* * *

So it was done. The fate of the Ring had been decided (at least as far as those of the West were concerned) the company had been declared and the Sword of Elendil was re-forged. In the proceeding days, Aragorn and Gandalf were often caught discussing plans and travel routes, the Hobbits spent as much time with Bilbo as they could and each vowed to remember as much as possible so that Bilbo would be able to record their journey upon their return. Legolas and Gimli spent time with their people while Boromir was chomping at the bit to return to his people. Dídauar was regularly found in deep discussion with Elladan and Elrohir and her Rangers over the recent scout missions to the Ettenmoors. The wolves it appeared, were making their way west and their presence was beginning to impact on the Shire, though as of yet, none had actually entered the country.

All too soon the company's final evening in Imladris had arrived leaving Aragorn and Dídauar with the task of letting each other go for what was most likely to be for the final time. They both knew that they could not go together. Placing the heir apparent to Gondor's throne in danger was bad enough but to also place the 'spare' in front of that danger would be sheer stupidity. Still, that did not make saying goodbye any easier.

"Promise me that we will meet again," whispered Aragorn, resting his forehead against Dídauar's as they sat before the memorial of their late mother. The pair felt ridiculous, this was not the first time that they were to be parted. While they had been on patrol with the Ranger's they had managed to remain together, even journeying to Rohan together but they been separated for several years when Aragorn left Rohan for Gondor while Dídauar stayed in King Thengel's service. They had of course met up on occasion, Denethor and Théoden having had a stable friendship during their earlier years. Following Aragorn betrothal to Arwen, Dídauar had vanished for five years, but even then the dangers they had faced were not as great as this one.

"I promise," replied Dídauar. "When you reach the east of the Mountains, look for me there."

Aragorn inhaled sharply. "No, Kalya its not safe for you!"

"Nor is it for you," said Dídauar. Aragorn pulled her to him and pressed an impassioned kiss to his sister's temple.

"I don't want to lose you," he whispered. This side of the Mountains, and with her proximity to Imladris, Aragorn was convinced that Dídauar would be safe and he was more than confident that the Elven twins, Halbarad and his sons would keep an eye on Dídauar during his absence. If she travelled east, there was no knowing what would happen, especially if her visions continued to increase in frequency.

"You won't lose me," replied Dídauar before pulling away. "You knew this would happen. Ever since you set out to find the Halflings, you knew that your path would turn this way."

Aragorn smiled weakly and withdrew. "I always had this dream that you would be with me as I trod that path," he said, fingering one of the braids of Dídauar's hair; one of Arwen's latest designs. Dídauar smiled.

"I had that dream as well, but the Valar are known to change their minds," she said.

"It is all in the song of Ilúvatar," said Elrond as he came upon his foster-twins. The two turned to face the dark-haired Elf that was strolling gracefully towards them.

"That does not make it any easier to accept," said Aragorn. Elrond gave his foster-son a gentle smile before glancing at the memorial of Gilraen.

"She knew this day would come," he said quietly. "She brought you to Imladris with the hope that you would be safe, but she knew in her heart that you would reach this crossroads eventually. You promised Boromir the Sword of Elendil, does the heir return to the White City as well?"

"I do not go on this Quest as heir of Isildur," said Aragorn, almost savagely.

"That did not answer my question Estel," said Elrond.

"If I survive, and the people want me, I will return. But I will not force a King upon a people who have begun to lose hope in a dream," said Aragorn, folding his arms, still defiant in his decision not to become King. It wasn't like he had lack of opportunity, after all he had spent at least a decade in Gondor serving Ecthelion, the then Steward. It would have been fairly easy to claim the Kingship and remove Ecthelion from his position of power, but to do so was to completely accept his lineage and Aragorn was terrified that the weakness of Isildur had past down the generations to him. This was a challenge that none of their ancestors had had to face.

"As long as there is one person who hopes, all is not lost," said Elrond. He slipped a hand inside his outer tunic and withdrew two chains. He held them out to the twins.

"These were originally made for Elros and myself and were returned to me upon his death," he explained. "The vines represent the troubles which life has in store for us all and the jewelled flower shows that something wonderful can come out of hardship and it is even more rewarding. I wish for you to have them."

"What about your sons?" asked Dídauar. Elrond smiled at her.

"They have other gifts," he said. "I wish for you and Estel to have these."

Taking a chain each, Dídauar and Aragorn slipped them over their sibling's neck before embracing the Elf Lord that they had long ago learnt to call Father.


	3. Call of the Wild

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

The terminology I use can be misconstrued, but I can't think of a different way of putting it so I warn you now - **The relationship between Kalya (Dídauar) and Aragorn is PLATONIC. I do _not_ write incest!**

This is more or less a filler chapter, but I need it to introduce varying characters and to establish more of Dídauar's character and her relationship with others.

* * *

**Chapter Three - Call of the Wild**

The twins spent that night together, continuing a tradition that had started the moment they were born, solidified as they grew up and cemented when they rejoined their people, namely sleeping together, sharing space, warmth and allowing their mutual love to temper their turbulent souls. Dídauar had tried to persuade Aragorn that he should spend the time with Arwen but the elder twin was having none of it. He had said as much of a passionate goodbye to the Elf-maiden as tradition and protocol allowed and now he was determined to spend what time he had left with Dídauar.

"Something is worrying you," said Dídauar, rising up on to one elbow so that she could look into her brother's eyes.

"You mean aside from the fact that I am journeying with the Ring of Power?" asked Aragorn cocking his head.

"Why does that scare you?" asked Dídauar.

"What is to stop me taking the Ring and hording it just as Isildur did?" asked Aragorn. "He was thought to be strong yet he fell to temptation."

"He may have been strong but you are stronger. When you face the same evil as Isildur, you will not fail," reassured Dídauar.

"How can you be so sure? Not everything you see comes to pass," said Aragorn. Dídauar smiled.

"I have not seen this, but I do know my brother. Better than he knows himself. You will not fail Estel, because your _heart_ will not allow you to. The mind is easily confused and manipulated but the heart remains true."

"Halbarad and the boys better take could care of you. I will need your sage advice should I become King," smiled Aragorn.

"You will have the daughter of one of Arda's greatest lore masters as your Queen," Dídauar remained, settling back at Aragorn's side. "And I don't think Arahael and Tarcil will appreciate being called boys."

"Your advice has yet to lead others astray," replied Aragorn. "And when compared to us, Tarcil and Arahael are boys." Dídauar swatted his shoulder with a yelp of protest, causing Aragorn to laugh.

"Garo bost vaer, muinthel nîn," he said, pressing a kiss to Dídauar's crown and tightening his arms around his sister before settling down to sleep himself. _(sleep well, my sister)_

"Garo bost vaer, Estel," murmured Dídauar, nuzzling into Aragorn's side and closing her eyes. _(sleep well, Estel)

* * *

_

The _plan_ had been that the company set out at dawn but Sam had seemed have panicked about something and by the time he was calmed and sorted out, it was closer to dusk before they were actually ready to depart, which according to Elrond was better since secrecy was their aim and it was harder to find people in the dark. Merry, who was still not entirely convinced that going on the Quest was a sensible idea, had muttered something about it also being easier to get lost.

Dídauar stood with Halbarad, who had returned with her from patrol, before the Fellowship as Elrond gave a final blessing and words of caution, particularly to Boromir, who had decided it was a good idea to sound the horn he had worn almost continuously since his arrival.

Finally the company saluted their Elven host and, with Gandalf and Frodo in the lead and Aragorn at the tail end, turned and departed from the Last Homely House. Aragorn stalled just as he was about to walk under the archway and his eyes connected with Dídauar's.

"Hebo dirith," mouthed Aragorn. Dídauar smiled and nodded. _(be careful)_

"Nan lû i agovaded vîn," she replied. Aragorn inclined his head and turning, hurried after the company. _(until next we meet)_

After watching the Fellowship walk out of sight, Dídauar turned to make her way back to the house when she glanced at Arwen. The Elf-maiden had been standing between her brothers and, until now, had managed to maintain a hold on her emotions but as Dídauar met her gaze, a tear slip down her cheek. Dídauar abandoned her kinsman's side and made a beeline for the Elven Lady.

"Telo na nin," she said, taking Arwen's arm and leading her to one of the spacious glades that surrounded the Last Homely House. _(come with me)

* * *

_

"I feel silly," murmured Arwen, wiping away the second tear that had escaped her eye. Dídauar canted her head to her.

"Why?" she asked.

"This is not the first time I have said goodbye to him," said Arwen. Dídauar immediately shook her head, vehemently.

"You are not saying goodbye. You are saying farewell," she said. "You will meet again, Arwen. You will have your fairytale happy ending."

"Why do you sound so depressed when you say that?" asked Arwen, cocking her head slightly. Dídauar blinked.

"I didn't mean to," she said quickly. "Arwen it may have taken us several years to reach this stage but I cannot think of a better wife for my brother or Queen for our people."

"But?"

"You will be one of the lucky ones," sighed Dídauar taking a seat, watching the sun sink completely behind the Mountains and the moon begin to shine in the inky expanse.

"You still sound depressed. What do you know?" said Arwen taking a seat beside her foster-sister. Dídauar smiled slightly as she turned to face Arwen.

"Nothing that you do not," she said. "I am simply being realistic. This War has been claiming lives since the moment the Dark One fell millennia ago. This is simply the crescendo before the ultimate climax. In its wake, families will be left scattered and torn. Including my own."

"But even the darkest night must come to an end," said Arwen, resting a hand on Dídauar's forearm.

"I know," sighed Dídauar. "Sorry, Arwen. This is my life, I should be used to watching warriors marching out and wondering if they will come back. I brought you here to comfort you!"

Arwen smiled. "Simply knowing that my worries are shared by another is comfort," she said.

"What say you to simply wandering around the gardens?" asked Dídauar, standing again and holding out a hand to Arwen. "I leave in two days, I would like some peaceful images. Something tells me we are all going to need them in the days to come."

Arwen accepted the hand and, arm in arm, the two women wandered around the starlit grounds.

* * *

Halbarad stood on one of the numerous balconies watching his younger kinsman. He knew the last few years had been hard on her, the ever increasing threat of war causing her visions to increase drastically. They were not a daily occurrence, indeed it was rare for them to occur more than once every five months, but their debilitating nature was an added pressure that Dídauar could really be doing without.

"What has you so interested?" asked Arahael, appearing beside his father with two glasses of wine in hand. Taking a sip from one, he offered the other to Halbarad. The elder man accepted it with a small smile of thanks.

"Your cousin," replied Halbarad, motioning to the two women who were wandering the grounds. Arahael smiled.

"She is going to need us more than ever," said the young man. Halbarad nodded.

"Just don't make it obvious that you are acting as a body guard. You know how tetchy she is about that, especially when it is you and your brother doing the protecting," he said, taking another sip of wine.

"Says the one who is overprotective of anything he can call his own," grinned Arahael.

"I am permitted to be protective," said Halbarad. "Shadow and Strider both know and accept my reasons why. However, to have her younger 'siblings' treat her as though she is made of spun-glass which is threatening to fracture at a moment's notice, will not sit to well with Kalya."

"You don't have to remind me," muttered Arahael, setting his glass aside and resting his arms on the balustrade before him, surveyed the moon dappled land that stretched before them.

"I am going to miss this place," he murmured, watching an owl take off from one of the treetops. "Here, it is so peaceful that it hardly seems feasible that there is a war being waged but a few miles away."

"Now, if I had Tarcil with me, he would be chomping at the bit to return to our people, and to patrol," chuckled Halbarad. "How is it you two are as alike as chalk and cheese yet manage to get along so well?"

"Precisely because we are different," replied Arahael. "He is my strength to my weakness and I am his." Halbarad chuckled at the answer and took another sip of his wine.

"I have heard that response before, and not from you," he said. Arahael shrugged as he continued to watch the two ladies in the garden below.

* * *

In the opposite wing of the House, Elrond stood watching his daughters as they meandered in and out the trees, a small smile spreading across his face.

There had been a time where Arwen and Dídauar had been unable to sit in the same room together without one of them passing a snide remark about the other. After their initial meeting in the twins' coming of age, Arwen and Aragorn were parted for twenty-nine years, but Aragorn had been besotted with the daughter of Elrond and continually bemoaned the loss of her beauty. Being subjected to renditions about Arwen's many virtuous qualities for eighteen and a half years, Dídauar had built up quite a resentment for the Elven Lady. When Aragorn and Arwen had become betrothed after meeting again, unexpectedly in Lothlórien after twenty-nine years, Dídauar, who had just departed Edoras and was expected back in Imladris, had vanished, seemingly off the face of the earth, sending Aragorn, the Dúnedain and her Imladrian family into a panic. Only Gilraen and Haldir, who was Dídauar's Guardian from childhood, had known where she had disappeared to but they would not tell, saying only that Aragorn had a decision to make. Eventually, after five years, Dídauar had been found in Gondor, serving under the continued guise of Faerlain, which had been her alias when under Thengel's command. It had been Gilraen's request, made some two years later, that had made her beg leave of Denethor and Finduilas so that she could return to the north. The Steward and his young family had been sad to see her depart, but accepted the promise that she would one day return. Five months later Dídauar later received the devastating news that Finduilas had not made it through to the end of the winter, causing her to retreat to Lothlórien only to be confronted by Arwen.

In total, it had taken nearly twenty years for Arwen and Dídauar, largely thanks to Gilraen, Elrond and Haldir, to accept that they had an equally important role in Aragorn's life, be it as a lover or as a companion. From the ashes of their loathing, a fierce fire of friendship had been lit and now, almost thirty years on, it was almost impossible to imagine the two as anything but sisters, be they fostered or not.

"Gell lîn nin echad meren, iell nîn," murmured Elrond. _(Your joy makes me joyous, my daughters)_

"Talking to yourself is a bad habit, mellon nîn," smiled Glorfindel, as he appeared beside Elrond. _(my friend)_

"So is creeping up on people," replied Elrond. Glorfindel simply grinned at his younger companion.

"Why are you out here in the chill when there is a pleasant fire burning in your grate?" asked Glorfindel.

"I needed the peace that the night offers," said Elrond sitting down on the shelf that jutted out from the balustrade specifically for such a purpose.

"Why are you so worried? Frodo is a lot stronger than he looks, you should have faith in him," said Glorfindel, crouching before Elrond.

"A Halfling does not have the strength to hold off a Man, Elf or Dwarf should the fancy take them to take his burden by force," sighed Elrond.

"Which company member worries you the most?" asked Glorfindel.

"Can you not guess?" asked Elrond.

"The Gondorian? Elrond, he is going with the company because of your suggestion. Why did you make such a decision if you did not trust him to protect Frodo?" exclaimed Glorfindel in confusion.

"Because he was returning South anyway," replied Elrond, running a hand over his face. "At least this way, there are eight other people to keep an eye on his movements and stop him doing anything rash. If I had sent him home, offended and unsatisfied, then he would have been as dangerous as any of the Dark Lord's servants."

"I still say Kalya should have travelled with them," muttered Glorfindel.

"She will in time, but now is not it," said Elrond.

* * *

Two days later, at around the noon hour, Dídauar, Halbarad and Arahael were kitted up and ready to leave the Elf-haven. It may have been the hottest part of the day, and the time least suited for travel, but it was also the safest, Orcs and other servants of Mordor preferring to hunt between dusk and dawn, the sun's rays causing them pain and fear.

Bidding farewell to her adopted family was a difficult task for Dídauar, not knowing if this would be the last time. She held on to the hope that they would meet again, but even as she did so, she could feel the strands fraying within her grasp.

"As the Enemy strengthens in the East, his servants increasingly roam our lands," said Elrond, standing before the three. "May the Valar guide and protect your path so that they bring you no harm."

The three Rangers inclined their heads and saluted the Elf-Lord before turning and departing the haven. Just before they past beneath the archway, Dídauar turned and, throwing decorum out of the window, sprinted back to Elrond, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

"I will miss you," she whispered.

Elrond returned the embrace with an equal ferocity before withdrawing and kissing Dídauar's forehead.

"I am with you always," he replied. "We will meet again."

"I will hold you to that," murmured Dídauar, not quite ready to let her foster-father go.

"I swear to you," said Elrond. "If it is the last thing I do on this earth, we will meet again. Now go. Duty is something none of us can escape."

Dídauar smiled and released Elrond before turning back to her kinsmen, the younger of whom was grinning like the cat who had eaten the best cream the Elven kitchen had to offer. Dídauar scowled at him before taking the lead.

"Cheer up," muttered Halbarad, nudging Dídauar's shoulder as they walked along the path away from the Last Homely House. "This is only the end if you make it so."

"Don't start giving me that sort of advice. That is supposed to be my forte!" replied Dídauar, though she couldn't help but smile.

"It was mine originally," said Halbarad. "Come, the sooner we leave, the sooner we can return."

"What did I just say?" exclaimed Dídauar. Halbarad laughed while Arahael rolled his eyes, unsure who was the worse combination – Halbarad and Dídauar or the Dúnedain twins.


	4. Protect and Serve

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

When I refer to 'lesser tribes' it is not meant in a derogatory nature _i.e._ the Rangers do not see themselves as holier-than-thou. I use the term to indicate that they are smaller in number and thus strength (the individual tribes) than the Dúnedain.

* * *

**Chapter Four - Protect and Serve**

When Dídauar, Halbarad and Arahael were less than two miles from the Ranger Stronghold, they were ambushed by a mixture of Orcs and wild-men of the north.

"They had to wait till now!" muttered Halbarad as the three of them drew their weapons, forming a defence triangle.

"Think they've found the camp?" asked Arahael.

"If they did, they would have waited for us there," said Dídauar.

"And you know Orcs to think in such a logical manner?" asked Halbarad, taking a swing at an particularly ugly Orc.

"No. But I would expect the men to be a little more sensible," replied Dídauar as she hurled a knife at the creature that was charging wildly towards them.

"Anyone who consorts, voluntarily, with Orcs has taken leave of their senses," muttered Arahael, lashing out at a man who was charging towards him with a scimitar risen.

"Commander down!" yelled a voice suddenly. Halbarad didn't bother to check who had yelled, but grabbed Dídauar and Arahael by the scruff of their necks and pulled them both to the ground with him. Arrows sailed over their heads, thudding into the bodies of their assailants. Those that were struck fell to the ground almost immediately. After a further five minutes, all the assailants were dead and a young Ranger, who looked to be around eight or nine years younger than Arahael, walked towards them, bow still clutched in one hand.

"Welcome back, my Lady. Commander, Arahael," said the warrior, holding out a hand to Dídauar, pulling her back to her feet.

"What have I told you about that title?" asked Dídauar, shaking a strand of hair out her eyes. Culas simply grinned before turning to Arahael.

"Is it impossible for you to go anywhere without ending up in some form of skirmish?" he asked, folding his arms.

"We were fine in Imladris," said Arahael, re-sheathing his sword. "You must be the jinx."

"Me? I have had peaceful patrols since the time you left," replied Culas pretending to look hurt.

"Then we arrived just in time then," smiled Dídauar. "Wouldn't want you to become bored would we?"

"I didn't say they were uneventful, what I said was that they were peaceful," replied Culas as the group set off, the three that had arrived with Culas scouting ahead. "Where's Strider?"

"Headed towards the Black Land," said Dídauar.

"And you are remaining here!" exclaimed Culas, his eyes widening.

"For the moment," said Dídauar. "Now tell me, how are things at the Stronghold?"

* * *

Anyone would think that Halbarad, Dídauar and Arahael had been gone for years as opposed to months. Arahael received the most enthusiastic welcome as he was immediately set upon by his mirror image and drawn into a bear-hug.

"Tarcil I still need to breathe!" gasped Arahael, the force of the collision with his twin knocking the air from his lungs.

"Two weeks you said!" exclaimed Tarcil, releasing Arahael slightly but not completely. "You have been gone six! No word, no sign, nothing."

"What I _said_ was it was a two week scout," replied Arahael, though he was smiling. "I have been enjoying the peace and quiet of Imladris for the last month. Along with Father and Shadow. Honestly Tarcil, you worry too much."

"I am your elder brother, it is my duty to worry over you," retorted Tarcil.

"It can get a little frustrating though," smiled Dídauar. Tarcil turned to her.

"You would be completely lost without Strider marking each of your footsteps," he said, releasing Arahael and approaching Dídauar, drawing her into a hug.

"Be that as it may, it does not mean that it is any less frustrating," replied Dídauar. "Now go and greet your Father. Halbarad, Arahael, take some rest. Culas, you can give me the patrol reports."

* * *

"Orcs we can deal with," Dídauar was saying as Halbarad entered the tent. "The lesser tribes could be a more serious problem though."

"How so?" asked Halbarad. Dídauar looked up at her cousin.

"You are supposed to be with your sons," she said. Halbarad shrugged and took a seat.

"And you are supposed to be with your brother," he said. "Now, how do the lesser tribes pose more of a problem than the Orcs?"

"Have you ever heard the phrase _the enemy of my enemy is my friend_?" asked Dídauar. "The men that live in this land may have several areas of grievances with each other but to a majority of them, we are a point of agreement. Unlike Orcs, who do not use scouts and rarely plan their attacks, the tribes _do_ use scouts, _will_ plan and _will_ cooperate if it means removing us from the picture. Their number is greater than ours should they all join forces."

"But our skill outmatches theirs," said Culas. Dídauar smiled at him. Culas still had a season before he came of age and still displayed the characteristics of youth – the sense of invulnerability, unshakable optimism and the utmost confidence in himself and his ability, bordering on egotistical in some cases. Often they were to his gain but at some point the voice of reality demanded to be heard.

"The skills of the Dúnedain maybe extensive but even we take causalities in battle, especially were the odds are against us," Dídauar said.

"What do you suggest?" asked Halbarad.

"Pull back the additional patrols from the Ettenmoors. The Wolves are continuing South and have not approached our people so are not any immediate threat. Increase our presence West to the Lune, and increase the number around The Shire. While the Ring is heading East, that does not mean that the Enemy will turn his attention away from the Hobbits," ordered Dídauar.

"Yes, my Lady," agreed the two. Dídauar sighed and motioned as if to strangle Halbarad. Culas she could put up with calling her by the title, the appellation usually appearing when Culas was eager to fulfil her requests. Halbarad on the other hand had known her since before she and Aragorn were taken to Imladris as toddlers, had made a point of visiting the Valley every three years while they lived there and had become mentor to the twins once they had re-entered the world of the Dúnedain. Culas at least had the grace to flush once he had realised his slip but Halbarad had no such inclination.

"What?" he asked with a grin. "It is something you are going to have to get used to when you arrive in Gondor, why not start now?" Dídauar scowled at him causing Halbarad to laugh.

* * *

Except for what could be described as a skeleton guard, the Stronghold was unmanned for the next few weeks as everyone bar the women, children, injured and the Rangers off rotation for five days, were out on patrol. Twenty extra men had been sent, at a staggered pace, to the River Lune, and a further fourteen had been assigned to patrolling the border of The Shire. Half-a-dozen others had been sent to Bree, the town being a popular resting place for everyone who was headed West along the main road and a good place to catch the latest rumours.

Dídauar herself was involved in the unit that remained closest to the Stronghold much to her chagrin. Halbarad however had put his foot down.

"I promised both your father and your brother that I would take care of you and I will not be seen to have broken my promise," he said.

"Estel has never stopped me going on patrol and Lord Elrond's sons repeatedly join us on excursions, he cannot dictate one set of rules for them and other for me," retorted Dídauar.

"I am not talking about the Elf," said Halbarad. "I am talking about Arathorn. Yes, I have allowed you as far East as Rohan, even Gondor, but the dangers you faced were not as great as they are now!"

"You let Estel travel East," said Dídauar. She knew she sounded like a child sulking because they were denied their way but at the moment that was the least of her concerns.

"That was not my decision," said Halbarad. "You are to stay within a day's march of the Stronghold and that is not open to debate!"

As it happened, Halbarad refusal to allow her to travel far from the Stronghold was probably the best course of action for Dídauar since on the 25th of January (the same day Gandalf was killed in battle with the Balrog) she experienced another vision.

Arahael, Tarcil and Dídauar were sitting around a small fire, eating what could be classed as a hearty meal of boar meat and root vegetables, slices of the recently caught animal stacked next to the fire to dry, when Dídauar cocked her head towards the twins.

"Did you raid the stores of Imladris before we left?" she asked. Arahael raised an eyebrow in confusion, holding up the humble potato he had just skewered on his knife.

"They are from the Stronghold, I swear!" he said. Tarcil was watching Dídauar in concern.

"What is amiss?" he asked.

"I smell apple cinnamon," replied Dídauar, her vision beginning to waver. "Just like Solstice treats." Tarcil eyes widened in horror while Arahael continued to look confused.

"I have neither," he said. Tarcil ignored him while Dídauar didn't even hear as her head lolled back and she slumped to the ground.

Arahael gave a yelp of shock as she fell while Tarcil grabbed a small wine sack from his pack, and moved to Dídauar's side. He raised her head so that it rested in his lap, and gently massaged her temples in a circular motion, all the while murmuring to her.

"It's alright Shadow," he said as Dídauar bucked. "Don't fight it. Just let it wash over you. Calm down, it will be over soon."

After a further five minutes, Dídauar let out a scream of torment that froze Arahael's blood, before falling limp, gasping for breath. Arahael turned terrified eyes to Tarcil who was still massaging Dídauar's temples.

"What was that?" demanded the younger twin.

"The reason why she is here rather than The Shire or Lune," replied Tarcil. "My Lady? Shadow, can you hear me?"

"I hear," whispered Dídauar, sounding completely exhausted.

"What did you see? What did you hear?" asked Tarcil. He knew that Arahael was going to be demanding answers within the foreseeable future but right now, Dídauar was the priority.

"Clash of metal, cries of battle. Blowing of a horn," murmured Dídauar. "Two sons cornered and out numbered. Jewel shattered. Proud, strong horse felled. Two Houses beginning to collapse."

"Where Shadow?" pressed Tarcil.

"Forest. Green Plains. River."

"That could be anywhere between Mordor and the Sea!" muttered Tarcil as Arahael's gaze turned from terror to utter confusion. "Shadow, I'm going to sit you up and I want you to take a mouthful of Miruvor."

Dídauar nodded lethargically and after taking the medicinal drink, rested her head against her younger companion's shoulder as Tarcil turned to Arahael.

"Which patrol is Father on?" he asked.

"He's gone to the Western border of The Shire. But he's due back tomorrow," replied Arahael, still looking confused.

"Good, because we are returning to the Stronghold at first light," stated Tarcil. Arahael blinked at his twin.

"We are?"

"Yes. Shadow is not safe in the Wilds at the moment. This episode is out of sync and was not due for another month at least," replied Tarcil.

"Episode? Not due for another month? Tarcil what is wrong with her?" demanded Arahael.

"Nothing is _wrong_ with her, as such," replied Tarcil. "As for the rest, it is for her to tell not me. Now, I suggest you finish your food then take some rest. We have a day's march of us and I have no idea what state Shadow will be in come the morning."


	5. Where Does Your Duty Lie?

**Chapter Five - Where Does Your Duty Lie?**

Dídauar was more lucid come dawn but the shock that her body was in after her unscheduled vision was enough to make her a little unsteady on her feet. Her reaction only bolstered Tarcil opinion that they were to head back to the Stronghold.

"Tarcil, we are in the middle of a patrol. If we leave before relief arrives then we are putting others at risk!" protested Dídauar.

"I am sure Father will forgive us when he finds out the reason for our premature return," replied Tarcil. "Besides, we will pass others of our unit before we reach the Stronghold so this area is not completely unprotected."

"Tarcil," warned Dídauar.

"You have done it for others. Why is it so difficult for you to accept that you need support as well?" asked Arahael.

"Because my life is not in danger!" stated Dídauar.

"Shadow, you are barely able to walk without support. Your life _is_ in danger should we need to engage in combat," said Tarcil.

"All I need is a couple of hours to recover and I will be fine!" exclaimed Dídauar.

"No," said Tarcil firmly. "You know the agreement that was made when you took command of the Stronghold." Dídauar muttered a few choice remarks under her breath only causing Tarcil to chuckle as he heard each of them.

"I'm not sure many would agree with you," he smiled. "Come, all I am asking is that you take a day of rest _within _the Stronghold. After that you can do whatever you please." Dídauar sighed.

"Alright. _One_ day. After that I am returning to patrol," she conceded.

* * *

Halbarad had been sitting writing a report on the activity on the western border of The Shire when one of the youths that were not yet mature enough to see battle arrived to tell him that his sons and Dídauar were approaching the Stronghold, two and a half weeks earlier than expected. Report immediately forgotten, Halbarad was out to meet them, concerned that they had encountered trouble and that one or other of them become injured. Naturally when he saw that all three were walking, mostly unaided – Dídauar's body was still fighting to regain its equilibrium – he was a little confused.

"Aren't you three supposed to be on patrol for another two weeks?" he asked.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," muttered Dídauar to the twins. Halbarad noticed that she was leaning on Tarcil more than her pride would normally allow and cocked his head in concern.

"What happened?" asked Halbarad turning to his sons.

"She had an unexpected turn during the night," said Tarcil. He hated keeping secrets from Arahael but this one simply wasn't his to tell. He himself only knew because he was Dídauar's patrol partner and she had felt it safer to inform him about her ability rather than scare him witless by unexpectedly collapsing in front of him. Arahael, not being in the same regular one-to-one situation, had never been told. Halbarad inhaled sharply.

"I'll take it from here. Thank you Tarcil. Arahael," said Halbarad and took Dídauar's arm, pulling her towards his hut.

"Tarcil?" said Dídauar before they were completely out of earshot. Tarcil turned on his heel, his head canted to one side in question. "Tell him." Tarcil's eyes widened momentarily before he nodded and led his brother away to where they would not be overheard.

"What happened?" asked Halbarad as he persuaded Dídauar to sit. Dídauar gratefully complied, her legs ready to give way.

"I had a vision," replied Dídauar. Halbarad nodded.

"Yes I gathered that, but was your next one not due for at least another month?"

"You will have to ask Lord Lórien," muttered Dídauar. "Normally when I receive a vision, it means that I am supposed to change something but there seems little that I can do on this occasion."

"Why don't you tell me what you saw then we can decided what you are supposed to do," suggested Halbarad. Dídauar repeated the vision she had been sent and Halbarad's response was virtually identical to Tarcil's as far as being unable to decipher what it was supposed to mean.

"Is there anything about the two men that seemed familiar?" asked Halbarad. "Anything that made them stand out?"

"Other than the fact that they were the only men amongst dozens of Orcs?" asked Dídauar sarcastically. "Both were in well worn clothing, practical for both travel and battle. What movement I saw was practiced, not the clumsy movements of a child. Both fought with swords. One had dark hair, the other muddy-blond."

"But no faces?"

Dídauar shook her head just as a knock sounded at the door. "Enter!" called Halbarad. A nervous looking teenager poked her head around the door.

"My Lord, my Lady, the Lord Elrond's sons have just arrived," reported the maiden. Both Dídauar and Halbarad stood to go and greet the pair but Halbarad put a hand on her shoulder.

"Get some rest Kalya," he ordered. "I will return after I have spoken to the twins. Mayhap they will be able to shed some light on what you vision means." Dídauar smiled at the name she had not heard pass her cousin's lips in well over sixty years.

"Call me before they leave," she said. Halbarad nodded and followed the messenger girl out of the door, pulling it tight behind him.

* * *

Dídauar was chasing two young boys down one of the many streets and alleyways of the sixth level. King Théoden was visiting Minas Tirith, partly to deliver the annual tribute of thirty horses and partly to visit Denethor and his family who were celebrating the birth of a second son; Faramir. Théodred had been delighted to find his Father's old Captain in the southern city though was slightly disgruntled that she was now officially a guard of Gondor and would not be leaving when he did. Upon the ending of the formalities, Dídauar had quickly found herself in charge of the two youngsters while Théoden and Denethor reminisced about their earlier years and Finduilas spent some time relaxing with Faramir.

"Boys don't go too far ahead!" called Dídauar as both tore around a corner. Théodred turned, stuck out his tongue and grabbed Boromir's hand before disappearing around the corner. Accepting the challenge, Dídauar stalked after them, the sweet smell of baked apple and cinnamon lingering in the winter air.

Suddenly the scene around her changed with the buildings becoming trees, the chatter of the market crowds giving way to the cries of battle. The five-year-olds she had been chasing vanished to be replaced by warriors. Dídauar cried out as they were struck down. She was still not permitted to see their faces but fear gripped her heart as her mind filled in the details.

"Théodred!" she screamed as a mighty horse was felled. She tried to catch the jewel that fell but it slid through her fingers like water. "Boromir!"

Dídauar jerked awake to find Tarcil sitting beside her, combing his fingers through her hair and panic flashing through his eyes. Dídauar lay gasping for breath, the remnants of the dream lingering around her mind,

"They'll fall," she murmured, still sounding disorientated, just as Elrohir came crashing ungracefully through the door.

"What has happened?" demanded the Elf. Tarcil waved at his to be quiet.

"Who will fall, Shadow?" asked Tarcil.

"Théo. Boromir," replied Dídauar. Elrohir looked at Tarcil in alarm.

"Your Father said she didn't know who she saw!"

"And at the time she didn't," replied Halbarad, leaning in the doorjamb.

"What did you see?" asked Tarcil, his attention on Dídauar. "Tell me _everything_ you remember."

Dídauar retold her dream followed by the replay of her vision. By the time she was finished, Elrohir was smiling at her.

"You are jumping to conclusions," he said as Tarcil helped her to sit up. Tarcil made a noise of assent.

"You have yet to see the faces of the men you see fall. Dreaming of the past has led you to make a connection which might not be there," the Elf continued.

"But nor has she ever had two visions within twelve hours," said Halbarad moving into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

"She did as a child," said Elrohir. "Each time connected with a dream."

"And each time they proved true," murmured Dídauar. "Things go ill east of the mountain."

"You cannot be sure of that," said Tarcil. "You are worried about Strider and about your people, it is understandable that you are seeing battle in your sleep."

"Then why is it not Estel that I see fall? Why am I seeing the death of a man I have not seen since he was thirteen-years-old?"

"I think that you should speak to the Lord Elrond," said Halbarad. Dídauar's head shot up.

"I haven't needed his help in explaining what I See for at least ten years!" she exclaimed.

"But none of us have ever experienced times as dark as these," said Elrohir. "If what you have said is true, the Quest may be in danger. As may the company." The three Dúnedain glared at the Elf.

"Emotional blackmail does not become you," snapped Dídauar.

"I am merely telling things the way I see them," said Elrohir. "We will leave in the morning." Standing and giving a brief nod, he left the three Dúnedain together.

"Tarcil I want you to go with her," said Halbarad immediately. "I will keep Arahael occupied here."

"I would prefer to take Arahael," said Dídauar. "How did he take your explanation?"

"As far as you being a Seer is concerned, he took it relatively calmly. But he was less than impressed that I had kept your secret for seven years without confiding in him," replied Tarcil. "Elladan was with him when I left."

"I need to talk to him," said Dídauar, standing up.

* * *

Arahael was to be found sitting slumped against the wall of the hut he shared with his brother and father, idly twisting a couple of wildflowers around his fingers. While he was not as wild a spirit as Tarcil, he was always on the go so it was a little disconcerting to see him simply sit.

"Arahael?" Dídauar said as she crouched beside him. Arahael turned dazed hazel-brown eyes to her.

"Seven years?" he asked. Dídauar nodded.

"He had to know. I am sorry Arahael, but you didn't," she said. Arahael's eyes turned chestnut in temper.

"Why not? Am I not trustworthy enough?" he hissed.

"Arahael I would trust you with my life, you know that. But the fewer people who know about my 'gift' the safer I am. Can you imagine what Sauron would do if he knew?" replied Dídauar, refusing to rise to the bait. "Tarcil only knows because we are patrol partners. If your situation were changed, it would be him that I am talking to now."

"Who else knows?" asked Arahael.

"Your Father, Estel and some members of Elrond's household. Thengel and Théoden of Rohan were also told but _only_ because I was in Rohan for twenty-three years," replied Dídauar. Arahael nodded, still looking a little dazed.

"He promised me," he murmured. "After Mamma died he swore that there would be no secrets between us. What else has he kept from me?"

"Nothing," said Tarcil as he appeared. "I have kept to my promise Arahael, except in this."

"But why?" asked Arahael.

"It was not my secret to tell, little one," said Tarcil. Arahael blinked at the name that Tarcil had not used since they had lost their mother. "I would have told you had it been so."

Sitting beside Arahael, Tarcil pulled him into a loose embrace, allowing Arahael every opportunity to pull away if he wanted. Arahael was not so inclined but rested back against Tarcil.

"Can you forgive me?" asked Tarcil taking the risk of tightening his grip. Arahael bit his lip, looking more like a young child rather than a twenty-nine-year-old. After a couple of minutes silent deliberation, during which Tarcil was looking increasingly nervous, Arahael nodded.

"I forgive you," he said, resting his head on Tarcil's shoulder. Both Tarcil and Dídauar exhaled, causing Arahael to look at her.

"I do not ask for your forgiveness," said Dídauar, reading the distress that shone from the hazel eyes. Reaching forward she tucking a strand of hair behind Arahael's ear saying; "I have to earn that. But I do ask that you accompany me to Imladris in the morning."

Arahael canted his head. "Imladris?"

"I need Elrond's counsel," said Dídauar. "And your Father is insisting that my brothers are not enough of a guard."

Arahael considered her for a minute and nodded. "I will go."

"Thank you. We leave an hour after dawn."


	6. Explanations

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

I am terribly sorry for the lateness of this chapter, I completely forgot about typing up this chapter last week and then I was at a training camp over the weekend so no computer.

Just a short chapter this time, it just wasn't flowing the way I wanted to so I just stopped before I ruin the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Six - Explanations**

Elrond look up in amazement when Lindir reported that Elladan, Elrohir, Dídauar and Arahael were approaching the House. Capping his ink well and carefully storing his paperwork he made his way quickly to the courtyard.

"What has happened?" he asked as the four dismounted.

"I need your help," said Dídauar shortening the reigns of he horse.

"You have but to ask," said Elrond.

"Three nights ago I had a vision," said Dídauar, removing the small pack from her saddle and sending the animal to the stable with Arahael.

"Follow me," said Elrond, the whole of his people not needing to know what was Seen. Dídauar quickly fell into step beside Elrond while Elladan and Elrohir saw to the horses.

"It has been over a decade since you sought me aid in deciphering what you See," commented Elrond as the pair walked down the corridor.

"It was Halbarad's insistence," said Dídauar. "As was Arahael's presence. Adar, things go ill east of the mountains."

"I know of Mithrandir's fall and that the Fellowship has reached Lothlórien but little else," said Elrond.

"Mithrandir had fallen?" repeated Dídauar. "When?"

"Thirteen days ago. In Moria," replied Elrond, watching as Dídauar's eyes went wide with fright.

"Why did they go there?" she whispered.

"That I can only guess," said Elrond. "But I would say it is because of Saruman's treachery."

"But the pass should be open!" exclaimed Dídauar. "Even if the Gap of Rohan was to dangerous, they shouldn't have had to go _through_ the mountains!"

"Kalya, you are panicking after the fact," said Elrond, encouraging his foster-daughter to sit down. "Estel and the others are safe. Grieving yes, but physically they are well. Now, what have you Seen?"

* * *

Dídauar and Elrond sat and talked till after the noon bell had rung, the Elf Lord both accepting and rejecting the notion that the ones Dídauar saw fall were the Crown Prince of Rohan and the heir to Gondor's Stewardship.

"They may be in danger, indeed everyone is in danger during this War, including the Dark Lord's servants but you have not seen the faces of the ones who fall."

"So why do I see Théodred and then watch a battle during which a horse is felled?" asked Dídauar. "Why do I see Boromir and have a jewel slip through my fingers?"

"The horse could represent Rohan as a State," replied Elrond. "And the jewel could mean that same for Gondor, or more precisely Minas Tirith."

"So the dream?"

"You're worried about the Fellowship," replied Elrond. "Perhaps your subconscious is allowing you to express those feelings by showing you memories where you had a duty of care."

"I had a duty of care over Théoden. Probably more than I did with Théodred and Boromir," retorted Dídauar.

"Yes, but when you left Théoden, he was an adult and more than capable of defending both himself and his people. Théodred and Boromir were children when you left them," explained Elrond.

"But I saw Boromir three months ago!" exclaimed Dídauar. "I know he is a warrior and an accomplished one at that."

"You were not given the opportunity to get to know the _man_ as well as you knew the child," said Elrond. "While your conscious mind is sure that Boromir is able to defend himself and, by association, the Fellowship, your subconscious has not yet accepted the change and is demanding that you protect both him and Théodred."

"Hence the dream," muttered Dídauar. "I'm sorry Adar. The more I think about it the more rational, and probable, your explanation seems."

"Yours is as equally plausible," said Elrond.

"_That_ was no help at all!" protested Dídauar, laughing as she made a playful swipe at Elrond's shoulder.

* * *

Later that evening, when any respectable being would be asleep, Dídauar found sleep alluding her. She had never been able to sleep peacefully the first night anywhere, be it Imladris or the Stronghold, and was more than happy to use that inability as an excuse to wander the House and grounds but in her heart she knew that she was terrified of watching Théodred and Boromir fall once again.

"Kalya?" asked Glorfindel, unexpectedly coming across his former student as she sat on the bridge where Arwen and Aragorn had reaffirmed their troth the evening before the Fellowship had set out. Dídauar turned her head but unlike previous meetings, she could not bring herself to smile.

"Why are you here?" asked Glorfindel not put off by Dídauar's lukewarm greeting.

"Regretting a decision I made over thirty years ago," replied Dídauar casting her eyes back up the stream before her.

"And the cause of this look into the past?" prompted Glorfindel tentatively as he sat beside her.

"Because I am sick of seeing the future!" snapped Dídauar. "For the past thirty years all I have seen is one battle after another, be they real of image. At least when I was in Rohan and Gondor I had moments of calm!"

"You regret returning to the North?" said Glorfindel, part in understanding and in surprise.

"Yes!" hissed Dídauar. "If I had remained east of the Mountains I might have been able to have prevented the future being shaped this way. If not that, I would at least have been able to help rather than sit here waiting for news of my family."

Glorfindel was nonplussed. "Estel is safe within Lothlórien. And you have only been away from your people for two days."

"Théodred is destined to fall, and all I can do is watch," replied Dídauar.

"Ah, your Rohirric colt," murmured Glorfindel. "But why do you set and wait? I have never known you to wait around when you know someone to be in mortal danger."

"Adar is not convinced that I _did_ See Théodred fall but instead is of the opinion that it is _Rohan_ I watch. He _insists_ that no action be taken until he speaks with Lady Galadriel," replied Dídauar savagely. Picking up a stone she hurled it towards the bushes. Glorfindel looked startled when the plant let out a yelp of pain. Dídauar threw two more stones, one left, one right, and again the greenery let out shouts of pain.

"I would not get far should I choose to run," said Dídauar.

"So you will stay and torture yourself?" said Glorfindel, sounding slightly disapproving. Dídauar's shoulders slumped forward and she pulled her knees up to her chest.

"I cannot save him," she whispered, resting her chin on her folded arms, her eye beginning to tear. Glorfindel reached out and pulled the Ranger to him, wrapping an arm firmly around her shoulders.

"Do not let that stop you trying," he whispered into her hair.


	7. The Next Stage

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

The relationship between Dídauar and Elrohir is PLATONIC. Their closeness stems from incidents in Dídauar's childhood that are irrelevant to the telling of this tale but are part of my character descriptors.

* * *

**Chapter Seven - The Next Stage**

The following morning, Elrond communicated with Galadriel once more through process of thought, sharing with her what Dídauar had Seen and seeking her opinion. Galadriel was inclined to agree with Elrond's assessment rather than Dídauar's mainly because neither Elrond nor herself had Seen anything of a similar vein. Elrond decided against pointing out that others rarely Saw what Dídauar did, but couldn't help wondering as to why a Dúnedain warrior had been enlightened when the wisest of the Elves remained in the dark. However, it was not his place to question that Valar, just accept the way things happened. The conversation then changed to the movement of the Enemy of both sides of the Mountains and how the Fellowship were coping with the loss of their leader. Midway through a report on the state of Frodo's well being, Elladan came charging into the room, his eyes wide.

"Elladan?" asked Elrond, momentarily stalling Galadriel's tale as he steadied the younger Elf.

"Kalya," was all Elladan said.

"What about her?" asked Elrond, not giving rise to the panic that his son was evidentially feeling.

"Vision," said Elladan. He had only ever witnessed Dídauar have a vision twice so it was understandable that he was panicked, thus reducing his speaking ability to single word responses. Elrond was on his feet immediately, sending an apology to Galadriel and severing the connection between their minds.

"Where is Elrohir?" asked the Elf-Lord, the younger twin having an inexplicable connection with his foster-sister, allowing him to calm Dídauar in a way that no one else seemed to master to quite the same effect.

"With Kalya," said Elladan. "Gilraen's memorial."

"Good. Now, I need _you_ to go to the healing wing and retrieve some Hop," ordered Elrond. "Bring it to Kalya's room and prepare some mild tea. I want her calm but not unconscious." Elladan nodded and took off in the direction of the healing wing while Elrond hurried towards the garden, wondering what was so important about the death of the two warriors that Dídauar saw when hundreds, possibly thousands, would die before the ending of the War.

* * *

The worst of Dídauar's vision was evidentially over by the time Elrond entered the glade that bore memory to the Dúnedain twins' late mother. The Dúnadan sat shaking in Elrohir's arms on the grass at the foot of the monument while Arahael was perched on the base of the monument itself, looking very nervous. 

"You have got to do something!" urged Elrohir, glancing up at his father. "Even if it is simply warning the Fellowship that something is amiss."

"And instil even more fear into Frodo's heart than already dwells there?" asked Elrond.

"It would put them on their guard," replied Elrohir.

"Why?" murmured Elrond. Elrohir inhaled sharply while Arahael glared at the lore-master. "Why are these two so important?"

"They are key-stones," said Dídauar.

"The collapse of two houses," said Arahael in realisation. Dídauar nodded.

"But Prince Théodred and Lord Boromir are but the heirs to their realms. Their fathers are both formidable warriors and politicians," said Elrond. "Surely their loss would be more traumatic."

"Théoden and Denethor are the present. Théodred and Boromir are the future," replied Dídauar. "With their deaths, the future of their people is thrown into question and the people will lose hope. Please my Lord, you have to tell Estel."

_The trees speak of pain and evil near the Isen,_ Galadriel had said, naught but an hour ago._ Saruman is planning, but not even the Mirror can show what._

"Kalya," said Elrond, reaching out and pressing his fingertips to Dídauar's wrists. "I need you to concentrate on the surroundings you See. Ignore the people, simply focus on the surrounding." Dídauar did as she was bid, her eyes drifting closed so as to maintain focus.

"Tell me what you see," pressed Elrond, his fingers still on Dídauar's wrists, moving them in a circular fashion so as to relax the human. "Describe one scene at a time."

"River running through an open plain," said Dídauar. "Mountains and trees in the distance. There's a small island in the middle of the River."

Elrohir's eyes widened at the description, while a frown of concern appeared on Elrond's features.

"And the second?" asked Elrond.

"Old forest," replied Dídauar. "Old stone monuments, one has the face of a Man. A river runs nearby and there is a heavy thunder of water."

Elrond closed his eyes in resignation, before letting his hands drop. "Nin geheno, iell nîn," whispered Elrond. Dídauar, opened her eyes and looked at him in question. _(forgive me, my daughter)_

"Am man theled?" asked Dídauar. _(Why?)_

"It is the Isen that you see," said Elrond. "And the forest at Sarn Gebir."

"Then it is them that I watch," whispered Dídauar, now almost begging Elrond to say that she was wrong. That her heart was misreading what her mind was being shown. Unfortunately such a negation was not forth coming and Dídauar let out a pained whimper, falling back against Elrohir as her heart and mind both accepted the fate of two that were held so dear. Elrohir wrapped his arms around Dídauar, pulling her closer, while Arahael nervously cleared his throat.

"How much time do we have?" he asked. Elrond shook his head.

"It may be a day or it may be a month," said the Elf-Lord. "Even should you set out now, there is no guarantee that you could prevent this."

"Tell Estel!" ground out Elrohir. "You have the chance to save Boromir, even if Théodred is lost to us."

* * *

Elrond ordered Dídauar to bed for the rest of the day, using the excuse of having three visions within four days was taxing on anyone's system whether they be Elf or Human. Dídauar went with little protest, though she refused to allow Elrohir to leave her side. Elrohir has subsequently made himself comfortable beside Dídauar, watching over her as her body slipped into unconsciousness. 

Thanks to a mixture of exhaustion and hop tea, Dídauar slept for the remained of the daylight hours and by the time she was awake again, the Moon has long since risen. Elrohir, who was still wrapped around her as though determined to shield her the world, had slipped into a reverie but even in sleep his guard did not seem to drop. Dídauar cautiously pried herself from her foster-brother's arms and padded over to the window where the inky sky was strewn with stars. Dídauar picked out familiar constellations while her mind wandered back to what Elrond had told her in the garden that morning.

"If only you had gone by the Gap of Rohan," she murmured, resting her head against the side of the window frame, her eyes latching with the central star in the Hunter's Belt which both she and Aragorn associated with their twin. When questioned about their choice, they had explained that the other two stars were Elladan and Elrohir, and they were protecting the middle star, regardless of where they went. The surrounding stars symbolised other members of their family, chiefly Gilraen, Elrond and Halbarad.

"It was the safest route."

"Not if Saruman also desires the Ring," said Elrohir as he insinuated himself behind Dídauar, wrapping his arms about her waist. "And I do not trust that all is well in Rohan either, following Mithrandir's tale at the Counsel."

"I have to leave Imladris," said Dídauar. "Even if I can't save Théodred, I can damn well try and save his people."

"Rohan is a patriarchal society," pointed out Elrohir. "And you, while you hold valour and esteem among your own people, and mine, are a female. What makes you think the King will listen to you?"

"I know him," said Dídauar.

"No, you _knew_ him," replied Elrohir, turning Dídauar round to face him. "The King you left is no longer the one that sits on the Throne of Rohan. Mithrandir spoke of Théoden's councillor also being his mouthpiece. Would the first-marshal of Rohan, whose deeds have even reached our Halls, really allow himself to be played like a puppet on a string?"

"All the more reason that I should leave," protested Dídauar.

"And you will," replied Elrohir, cupping Dídauar's cheek. "But do not rush head long into danger. At least return to the Stronghold and tell Halbarad where you are going."

Dídauar sighed, frustrated. "Very well. But _nothing_ is stopping me returning to Rohan."

"No one will stop you," assured Elrohir. "And we would be fools to try."

* * *

"Dídauar?" called Arwen as Dídauar made her way down to the stables two mornings later. Dídauar turned as she was called. 

"Word is that you ride to Rohan," said Arwen as she came to a standstill beside Dídauar. The Dúnadan nodded, her face showing none of the usual frivolity that such a journey once caused.

"Then I ask, should you meet Estel, that you give him this," said Arwen, handing over a tightly bound bundle of dark linen. "And give him a message; The days now are short. Either our hope cometh or all hopes end. Therefore I send thee what I have made for thee."

"I will," promised Dídauar, taking the bundle. She was about to turn when Arwen caught her by the arm and pulled her into an impulsive embrace. Dídauar returned the gesture both offering and taking comfort.

"Avo 'osto nad, pen dithen," whispered Arwen. "This is not the end." _(Do not be afraid, little one)_

Dídauar withdrew and offered Arwen a weak smile. "I pray that you are right. All I can see is darkness and despair."

"When last you left, I told you that even the darkest night must come to an end. Hold to that belief and you will succeed," said Arwen. Dídauar's smile grew a little stronger. Giving Arwen another brief hug, Dídauar turned and hurried towards the stable where Arahael and the twins were already mounted. Kicking her horse into trot, she hauled herself on to its back and rode out of Imladris, her companions left with no other choice but to follow.


	8. The Whisper Of War

**Chapter Eight - The Whisper of War**

"Dídauar would you stop pacing!" exclaimed Halbarad, grabbing hold of Dídauar's arm and literally forcing her to sit down. "We can't leave for another four days at least, so will you _please_ calm down!"

It was three days after Dídauar and the Elven twins had departed Imladris to inform Halbarad that she was returning to Rohan. Halbarad had immediately told them, that under no circumstances were the three going to Rohan alone. He had insisted that they wait until the next patrol groups were due back from rotation. He halved the number due to leave and together with those returning thirty warriors could be spared from the defence of the north, especially when Elladan relayed that Glorfindel had promised that the Elves would guard the land around Imladris as well as the Valley itself. Of course the Dúnedain returning from patrol needed time to recover strength before being thrust headlong into a situation that no one had a clear picture of. For now, it was a case of sit and wait and it was driving Dídauar insane.

"I know _what_ is going to happen. I know _where_ it is going to happen, _how_ it is going to happen and _who_ it is going to happen to. What I don't know is _when_ it is going to happen," said Dídauar as she fidgeted with the edge of the map on the table.

"And your pacing is not going to speed that answer in its coming," replied Halbarad, staying her hands before she damaged the parchment. "It is very likely that you will never know that until after the fact. I'm sorry Dídauar but you have to accept that you will never see Théodred and Boromir in this world again."

"Not with a fight," said Dídauar vehemently.

"Go and help Culas with the supplies," ordered Halbarad as she began to pace again. Dídauar looked apologetically at her cousin, fully aware that was driving the older man to distraction but she could help it. Her heart demanded that she act while her mind was telling her that she had to wait for the others. Nodding, she turned on her heel a final time and stalked across the settlement to where Culas was separating food into bundles for travel.

* * *

Once they had left the Stronghold, Dídauar lost track of time as she sought to reach the Isen and Théodred before he fell. She knew she was pushing the horses and the men that were accompanying her to their limits but no one said anything. They all knew that she was very protective of who she called her own, and was extremely driven when one such individual was in danger. The younger ones, particularly Arahael, Tarcil, Culas and Nemír, knew exactly how maternal Dídauar was when she chose to be.

In total, from when Dídauar had left Imladris for the second time, it took twenty-seven days for the company to reach Rohan, during which time they had discovered yet another path that the Wolves had taken, come under numerous attacks by Orcs and wild-men and Dídauar had yet another vision. This time, Dídauar was granted the opportunity to see the faces of those who were to fall. Previously, Dídauar had been relatively unaffected after a vision, regardless of how violent it was (if one ignored the fact that she was usually exhausted for a few hours and prone to shaking long after she fell asleep) but this time she cried out in pain and terror. The rest of their company temporarily forgotten, Elrohir and Halbarad sought to calm Dídauar who emerged from her vision in tears. In between cursing the Valar and Sauron, Elrohir held his foster-sister as her heart finally acknowledged that Théodred and Boromir would die.

"They don't know," she sobbed, gripping tightly to Elrohir's tunic. "He didn't tell them!" Unexpected Elrohir growled causing Halbarad to look up.

"Do I want to know?" he asked.

"My Father was supposed to tell the Fellowship that Boromir was in danger," replied Elrohir. "Evidentially, he hasn't and _Kalya_ is suffering for it."

"He what?" demanded Halbarad. "Why would he keep that a secret? Does he what rid of that man so desperately? I know he wasn't overly keen to see him in the Fellowship."

"He wouldn't do that," replied Elrohir. "Especially to someone who Kalya cares about."

"Then _why_?" demanded Halbarad. Dídauar was ever the warrior and was rarely caught having the breakdown she was now. Even around Aragorn she would attempt to hide her distress. To say Halbarad was concerned would be a serious understatement.

"Wrong Elf?" tried Elrohir. "Adar would have spoken to the Lady Galadriel rather than Estel. Maybe they spoke too late?"

It was Dídauar who responded. "Speed is a key factor in the Quest, they will most likely have travelled by river. It only takes four days to travel from Lothlórien to Sarn Gebir by boat. I told him almost a month ago, there was no chance of him missing the Fellowship. If Adar told Galadriel then _she_ is the broken link."

"But why?" repeated Halbarad. "Middle Earth needs every warrior it possibly can to survive this War. Why risk the loss of the leader of a nations military?"

"May be this is just something that can't be changed," said Elrohir. Dídauar made to leap out of his arms like a gazelle but the Elf held her fast.

"No," he said, taking her hands and twining them with his, crossed them across her chest. "You will be of no use to anyone if you are injured or killed. Wait till light."

* * *

Over the coming days, Dídauar pushed her company hard, determined to reach Rohan but upon their arrival at the Isen, she knew it had all been in vein. The scouts that had been sent ahead had reported a large army of Orcs, Wildmen and Uruk-Hai massed along the sides of the Isen and numerous bodies of Men despoiled by the creatures. Though they had not followed the trail that far, the scouts had speculated that the source of the army was Isengard, the tracks and army position lending themselves to such an assumption, since virtually nothing of the Enemy was to be found after the last soldier was passed on the way to the Sea.

Carefully the company made their way towards the Isen's banks, leading their horses rather than riding them. With every mile they covered, and every slain Rohirric soldier they encountered, Dídauar's temper rose. Her people watched in concern as their Captain withdrew her affection and had it replaced by a mask of bitterness and anger. By the time they reached the banks of the Isen, having been caught in a couple of skirmishes with Orcs and Uruk-Hai, the Dídauar of Eriador they knew was all but gone.

Coming across a Rohirric encampment, which was understandable heavily guarded, Dídauar marched towards the nearest warrior, Halbarad at her side.

'Where is your Captain?' she asked, using a language she had not spoken for nearly thirty years.

'Who are you?' replied the soldier, looking a little startled to hear his only tongue coming from the mouth of a stranger.

'My name is of little consequence, but know that I am a friend of Rohan,' replied Dídauar.

'The same was said of the White Wizard,' replied the Rohirrim, not budging an inch. 'Yet since he extended his hand of friendship, this land has begun to fail.'

'Saruman is a foul traitor and will be made to pay for his betrayal,' snarled Dídauar. 'Where is your Captain?'

'You will have to wait until my relief arrives. I cannot abandon my post and I do not trust you mean no harm,' said the warrior. Dídauar sighed in frustration but knew better than to try and force her way past a Rohirrim on duty.

* * *

Two hours later, the guard's relief arrived and after giving the man strict instructions to keep an eye on the company camped just within their sight, he signalled to Halbarad and Dídauar to follow him.

The Dúnedain were led to a moderately sized tent in the middle of the encampment where they were met by two further guards, both of whom were heavily armed. Their 'guide' had a swift word with both men and the tent flaps were drawn back to allow them entrance.

'Forgive me, sir, but there are two strangers here demanding to speak with you,' reported the guard. His Captain glanced up and his eyes widened in amazement when he caught sight of Dídauar.

'They insisted that they were friends of Rohan, yet would not give me names, would you have me disarm them?' asked the guard when his Captain did not verbally respond.

'That is no way to treat an ally,' cautioned the Captain. 'You may leave us.' The man looked a little sceptical but the Captain gave him a stern glare.

'Yes Captain,' he muttered, before ducking back through the flaps, where he could be heard given the pair on the other side orders to be extra vigilant while their Captain was 'entertaining'.

'Captain Faerlain, it has been along time since you have graced Rohan with your presence,' said the Rohirrim, walking forward and holding out a hand.

'Thirty-nine years,' replied Dídauar.

'And you have barely changed,' sighed the man. 'I wish we were all so lucky.' Halbarad cleared his throat, causing Dídauar to start. Halbarad had no grasp of the language of the Rohirrim, so was understandably lost.

"Sorry Halbarad. Grimbold, this is my cousin and second; Halbarad. Halbarad, this is Grimbold, warrior of the Westfold," she said, switching the conversation back to Common Tongue. Grimbold and Halbarad clasped wrists in the classic warrior greeting.

"What brings you back to Rohan?" asked Grimbold.

"War, rumours and dreams," replied Dídauar. "And Théodred."

"Alas that you are too late. The Prince was slain six days ago," said Grimbold. The only betrayal of Dídauar's pain to the words showed in her eyes and only caught if one knew what to look for.

"Where is he?" she asked, swallowing back the lump of emotion that gathered her throat.

"Buried with his fallen men where they fell," replied Grimbold. "Erkenbrand sent word to the King asking for aid."

"Do not count on it arriving swiftly," said Dídauar. "And I regret to say that my men cannot offer it to you either. My brother is abroad in Rohan and I must seek him." Grimbold's demeanour changed at that.

"That is joyous news," he said. "Hope is at last beginning to creep back into Rohan."

"I pray that it is not short lived," said Dídauar. "I wish you luck Grimbold. May fortune shine upon your path."

"And yours as well," said Grimbold briefly gripping Dídauar's forearm, followed by Halbarad's. "I will have the men grant you free passage across the Fords."

"May I beg one favour before we depart?" asked Dídauar. Grimbold gave a weak smile.

"He is buried beneath a mound on the island, surrounded by spears and his banner flies atop," he said. Dídauar gave a curt nod and ducked back out the tent.

* * *

An hour later, after Dídauar had paid her respects to the fallen Prince and swearing to defend his country, the Dúnedain crossed the Isen swiftly, leaving behind Grimbold's company on the west bank, followed by Elfhelm's on the eastern shore, and turned north, heading for Edoras.

Dídauar still sent forward scouts, not wishing to be caught unprepared should someone make them out to yet another target, and also to find out the state of the country she had once called home. Most of what was reported involved destruction and death, which served only to force Dídauar further into the shell she was erecting around herself.

"Shadow!" yelled Culas as he and Nemír galloped back to their people as they paused for a brief period. Halbarad glanced up and caught sight of the wild-eyed youths. Dídauar, having been literally dragged away from their companions by Elrohir and forced to engage in body combat so as to release some of her pent up emotions, was presently not available, leaving Halbarad in temporary command.

"What is it?" asked Halbarad, steadying the younger of the two scouts as he flung himself from his horse, almost tripping on the stirrup in his haste.

"Army," gasped Culas. "10,000 strong at least. Heading towards us."

"Oh, things couldn't get any worse!" exclaimed Halbarad.

"The Rohirrim we encountered?" ventured Nemír, knowing full well that the next statement to leave his lips was equally unwelcome. "They were forced to retreat from the west side of the river. Isengard is gaining strength."

"Fantastic!" cheered Halbarad sarcastically. "Elladan! Get the men saddled up and ready to ride while I go and hunt our elusive kin. We have got problems. 10,000 of them."


	9. When A Whisper Becomes A Shout

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

I've modified the timeline a little. The Dúnedain, in the book, didn't arrive in Rohan until _after_ the Battle of Helm's Deep. In this tale, they arrive as Aragorn and Théoden are heading towards Helm's Deep.

The Battle of Helm's Deep is a mixture of book and movie _i.e._ Éomer is there, though still working to clear his name as a traitor, and so are the Elves. Éowyn is **_not_** there and neither are the people of Edoras.

Conversations which involve _only_ the elder set of Dúnedain twins take place in Sindarin.

* * *

**Chapter Nine - When A Whisper Becomes A Shout**

"We seek one Aragorn, son of Arathorn!" called Halbarad as the Rangers caught up with Théoden's swiftly moving entourage less than a day later. "We are told he is in Rohan."

Aragorn's head shot up in surprise, not least because Halbarad knew where to find him. As it was, he was only in Rohan due to a series of misadventures earlier in the Quest. If all had gone to plan, he and his companions would be heading to Mordor, still with Frodo under their protection.

"You have found him," he called back before Théoden or his aides had the opportunity. He slid off Hasufel's back, Legolas quickly catching the animal's reigns, and weaved between the Rohirrim to come face-to-face with his people.

"What are you doing here?" exclaimed Aragorn as Halbarad dismounted.

"Did I not say we would meet again, east of the Mountains?" asked the second rider. Aragorn blinked while Théoden did a double take. He recognised that voice!

"What are you doing here?" repeated Aragorn after he had recovered from his initial shock.

"You have got more trouble than you imagine," replied Dídauar.

"There is an army of 10,000 on your trail," said Halbarad. "The defence of the Isen has been forced into retreat and Isengard has emptied. The foul creatures of Saruman's command are headed straight for you."

"How many of you have come?" asked Aragorn, having paled slightly at the news.

"Thirty. It is all that could be gathered in haste."

"Even one extra soldier is welcome in times of need," said Éomer as he led Firefoot to where Aragorn stood. "Will you ride with us?"

"'tis why we are here, my Lord," said Dídauar. "Such a fair country as Rohan should not be spoiled further by the evil of Saruman and his master."

"You speak as one who knows of our troubles," said Éomer, sounding slightly suspicious. Dídauar inclined her head.

"I have seen," she said, her eyes seeking Théoden out within the muster. "And I wish that I could have prevented." Théoden's eyes widened but before he could make any comment Halbarad spoke.

"My Lords, we do not have the time to linger here. The Enemy presses closer and lest you wish to meet them on the plains I suggest we continue on our journey."

* * *

"I have a thousand who are able to defend but many have seen too many winters. Or too few," reported Gamling, the commander of those who guarded the Deep, as Théoden stood in the chamber of Helm's Deep, looking over a plan of the Keep.

"What of provisions?" asked Háma. "We rode to open battle not a siege."

"Many of the Westfold have sheltered behind us in the caves. They have food, beast and their fodder," replied Gamling.

"'tis well, since the enemy is burning every rick, cot and tree as they come," said Théoden in despair.

"If they come to bargain at Helm's Deep they will pay a high price," said Gamling pulling himself up proudly.

"And they will break upon the walls like water," agreed Háma.

"My Lord?" said Dídauar stepping from the shadow. "You are heavily out numbered against a force who's only task is to kill your people."

The four Rohirric commanders all turned her with a mixture of amazement and incredulity. Female warriors in Rohan were not unheard of, indeed stories were still told of the Shield-maidens of old and Éomer had been raised on tales of Faerlain, the Wild-child of the Plains, but it had been years since such a thing had been seen.

"If this battle goes ill, your people have no way of escape. For the sake of those who shelter behind, I beg that you call for aid," Dídauar continued.

"And _who_ would you have us call?" asked Théoden. "Elves? The old alliances are dead and they are departing these lands. The Dwarves hide away in their mountains, caring for nothing but riches. Gondor is too far away. A rider would barely be across the border before we are overcome."

"There are many of your own people who would gladly answer a call from their King," said Aragorn.

"Erkenbrand is riding within the Westfold. Send out riders. Beg him to make haste," added Éomer. "Or send from the Eastfold."

"That would leave the people there unprotected," replied Théoden, dismissing the idea.

"If you lose this battle, the defence of the Eastfold will be the least of your worries," said Dídauar.

Théoden stood gazing at the Dúnedain twins and his nephew but before he could say anything another Rohirric warrior spoke up.

"My Lord, are you to let two vagabonds of the north and a traitor decide the fate of your people?" he asked. Háma immediately stiffened as did Aragorn and Éomer.

"Do not whisper the words of Wormtongue in this hall," hissed Háma.

"At least he kept this country safe," replied the man.

"This country faired well enough without that snake," said Gamling. "It is because of his poison that Théo……"

"The Prince was foolish. If he had heeded Grima's counsel and the King's orders, as was his duty, then he would be here," interrupted the other. Théoden's shoulders slumped forward as he was once again reminded of his son's premature fall causing both Éomer and Gamling both snarled, Éomer being the one to voice his anger first.

"It is because of Théodred that we still have a country to defend!" he snapped, banging his fists down on the table before him and his eyes narrowing dangerously. "And if I _ever_ hear you slander his name or his honour again, Béma help me, you had best hope your horse is fit!"

"That is enough, Éomer! Gamling, Háma the same applies to you also," said Théoden straightening up. "The eve of battle is not the time to seek vengeance or make threats to the ones you expect to watch your back."

"Sorry, my Lord," murmured Gamling and Háma, ducking their heads in acknowledgement. Éomer remained defiant.

"What does the _King_ command?" asked the warrior, his haughty gaze flicking between Dídauar and Éomer. Aragorn growled in warning while Háma's eyes narrowed.

Théoden glanced once more at the map before making his decision. "I want every man and boy, able to bear arms, ready for battle by nightfall."

* * *

Éomer wandered around the Keep, Dídauar at his side, both trying to work out how to best protect the people who sought shelter behind them. Dídauar had done this before but then the Dúnadan had borne the name Faerlain and she and Théoden had worked as a team. Admittedly, Rohan's first-marshal now had the larger task of trying to organise the whole plan rather than just a section, but it stung that he no longer heeded Dídauar's advice. Maybe she had imagined the recognition that shone from Théoden's eyes when he looked at Dídauar.

"You look troubled," said Éomer as they wandered the battlements, a blueprint of the Keep in hand.

"Nay, I was simply remembering a time when your Uncle and I worked side by side," replied Dídauar. Éomer cocked his head.

"You have been in Rohan before?" he asked, hope in his voice. Dídauar smiled at the young man.

"I served your grandfather. I was his Captain, for seventeen years. For six year before that I was a field soldier," she said. Éomer's eyes widened considerably.

"Thengel died nearly forty years ago!" he exclaimed. "You do not look a day over that."

"If only that were true," said Dídauar with a small, slightly sad, smile.

"Did you know Thorongil and Faerlain?" asked Éomer, sounding, and looking, like an eager school boy. "I never knew them but the stories say that they were formidable warriors, especially if they fought together."

"I knew them," Dídauar said. "But now is not the time for a history lesson. If we both survive this battle, I will tell you as much as I can."

"I will hold you to that," said Éomer. "But for now, I must consult with the King." Dídauar inclined her head and as Éomer hurried away to the inner chamber of the Keep, Dídauar continued along the battlement to where Aragorn stood watching over the Plain which was growing steadily blacker as Saruman's forces drew closer.

'We are lost,' murmured Aragorn without turning around.

'If we cling to hope, then we will stand a chance,' she said, resting a hand on her brother's shoulder.

'Against that?' asked Aragorn, gesturing to the mass. 'It will take a miracle for us to win this battle.'

'Which have been known to happen on occasion,' said Dídauar with a small smile. 'But it is not only Saruman's hordes that have you searching the field like a hawk looking for a mouse.'

'I sent Culas and Nemír out to search for Erkenbrand,' said Aragorn. Dídauar stiffened.

'You did what?' she hissed. 'You sent out my youngest men when you knew perfectly well what was standing in their path!'

'They are _my_ men,' Aragorn reminded her. 'Why did you bring them with you if you did not want them facing such a foe?'

'I brought them with twenty-eight other men,' said Dídauar sharply. 'I did not send them out alone against 10,000 Orcs who's only purpose in this world is to kill the race of Man!'

'Someone had to take a message to Erkenbrand,' said Aragorn defiantly. 'They are the best trackers we have, other than Elladan and Elrohir, who we cannot afford to lose. They were the obvious choice.'

'My men are not expendable!' snapped Dídauar turning away in disgust. 'Least of all the young.'

Aragorn reached out and caught her arm. 'I sent them to keep them safe. There is little chance that we can win this battle. Saruman has us penned like a fox cornered by the hunters dogs. If we send away the young then at least our people will not be lost to history yet.'

'Then why not Arahael and Tarcil?' asked Dídauar. 'Their skills are equally sound.'

'You need them,' replied Aragorn. Dídauar stared.

'I need them all!' she snarled. 'For a reason to fight if nothing else.'

'I did what I thought was best. For all concerned,' said Aragorn, turning back to the Plains. Dídauar simply stared at Aragorn's back for a few minutes before turning on her heel and marching to find Halbarad.

* * *

Night came to quickly for those charged with guarding the Deeping Wall. Come dusk the Plain before them was a sea of black and the marching of feet echoed around the valley like thunder. Clouds, dark and heavy with the threat of a storm, gathered across the sky cutting out the sun. In the Deep itself, the women, children and old had been guided to the caves while those able to bear arms made their way first to the armouries and then to the battlements.

It was a youth, no more than fifteen years old and barely able to lift the broad sword that had been set in his hand, that spotted the breakaway group from the main army and yelped in horror. The man beside him, who had seen substantially more confrontations if his multitude of scars was anything to go by, laughed at his terror only to have Háma snarl at him.

"What is it lad?" asked the Royal Guard. The youth pointed to the group that looked like a fly when compared to the main host, and was making its way swiftly towards the fortress. Háma gripped the youth's shoulder briefly before turning and hunting out his King.

"My Lord, a small patrol approaches the Keep at a great speed," he reported having come across Éomer on the central battlement, Gamling at his side.

"Why not shoot?" asked Éomer.

"They do not move as Orcs," replied Háma. "Their movement is fluid and swift."

"As are those of a mountain cat before she strikes," said Gamling.

"But as with a beast who has fed, these creatures do not need to send a scouting party," said Dídauar, who had easily slid back into the role of Théoden's councillor, as she approached with Aragorn. The elder child of Arathorn was not normally one for taking a submissive role but Dídauar's relationship with Théoden was a lot healthier than his own and could be the key to Rohan's survival.

"It is too small to be Erkenbrand," said Háma. At that moment a horn sounded in the valley and the twins' heads snapped towards the gate before they turned to each other.

"Lórien?" asked Dídauar in amazement. Aragorn nodded just as the horn sounded again and cries of 'open the gate' could be heard from below. The twins gave Éomer a swift nod before running to the gate, nearly colliding with Legolas as the three met at the top of the steps.


	10. Teetering On The Brink

**Chapter Ten - Teetering On The Brink**

Haldir gazed around the cove as he swiftly led his company towards the Deep. Galadriel had told him that she had witnessed the fall of Rohan, and subsequently the rest of the world, in her mirror. She had declared that now was the time to re-establish the old alliances which had crumbled over three thousand years ago on the Plains of Gorgoroth. Knowing that the camaraderie between Elves and Men, had dwindled over the years, particularly between those of Lothlórien and Rohan, and that they were embarking what amounted to a suicide mission for the sake of the mortals, Haldir had requested volunteers to accompany him. Two hundred had stepped forward. Galadriel had asked Haldir to stay in Lothlórien, she herself having misgivings about Haldir's presence at the upcoming battle but when Celeborn had informed him that the Dúnedain twins were caught up in the troubles, Haldir was determined to lead his troops. Reluctantly, Galadriel allowed the silver-Elf to march at the head of the army.

Within his cohort were his younger brothers, Rúmil and Orophin. Haldir had slight misgivings about the pair going to Rohan but neither could be dissuaded. As Orophin had told him, they three of them had never separated before and they were not about to start. There was no hope of persuading one of them to stay in the Golden Wood while the other marched to war. They may have been a century apart in age, but Rúmil and Orophin were as close as the twins of Imladris. Haldir could only pray that they would remain as safe as one could in pitch battle.

They had past through the Dike with little trouble, the men there delighted to welcome anyone who was willing to help them fight and now they were approaching the causeway. Nodding to Orophin, he signalled for the trumpet to sound around the cove, announcing their presence and the fact that they were not Orcs. As they marched up the stone path to the main gate of the Deep, the wooden structure was drawn open and the Elves filed in. Around them, the faces of the Rohirrim seemed to lighten, as though some immense weight had been lifted partially from their shoulders. Glancing around, Haldir looked for someone who looked like they commanded the Men as saw him wandering down the steps towards him, apparently in a daze.

"How is this possible?" asked Théoden as he took in the army of Lothlórien. Haldir came to a halt at the base of the steps and saluted the King of Rohan. Behind him, his warriors came to a halt before turning in unison, the standard bearers planting the ends of their staffs on the ground.

"Three thousand years ago, there existed an alliance between the Elves and Men. Together, our people fought, and died, for the sake of the world," said Haldir. Théoden took another dazed step down towards the Elves but before he could say another word, a figure came charging down the stairs and, without ceremony, Aragorn flung himself at Haldir almost knocking him off his feet. Slightly startled, Haldir caught him about the back and hugged him back for a brief moment.

"You are most welcome," said the Man once he had withdrawn. Haldir gave him a brief nod before gripping Legolas' forearm and opposite forearm in greeting. Dídauar didn't approach the Elves, instead remaining on steps behind Théoden, an unreadable expression in her eye and on her face. Haldir looked at her, concern shining in his eyes though he was careful not to allow Théoden see such an emotion. It would not do well to appear condescending.

"We have come to rekindle that alliance," said Haldir, as Éomer and Háma appeared behind Théoden. Théoden, still slightly amazed at the arrival of the Elves, nodded in gratitude before turning back to Éomer and muttering something. Éomer nodded sharply and hurried back up the steps. Giving both Rúmil and Aragorn a meaningful look, Haldir took hold of Dídauar's arm and pulled her away from the steps while the other pair led the Elven army to the battlements.

"You are troubled," said Haldir, resting his index finger beneath Dídauar's chin and tilting her face up so that their eyes met.

"'tis only now that the Lady sends her aid," said Dídauar. "It was needed many days ago."

"What has happened?" asked Haldir.

"The Fellowship is asunder," replied Dídauar. "For certain, I know that two are dead. Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli are here. Where the Hobbits are, I cannot, and will not, guess."

"Wait. _Two_ are dead?" asked Haldir. Dídauar nodded.

"Boromir was slain by Orcs in the forest near Sarn Gebir not long after the Fellowship left Lothlórien," she said. Haldir stared.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"I watched him fall. When I arrived in Rohan, Legolas confirmed what I saw," said Dídauar. Her voice remained emotionless, but she rubbed one hand up and down the opposite forearm in a gesture Haldir recognised as her mutely asking for comfort. He pulled his charge to him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head which was resting on his shoulder while the other wrapped itself tightly around the waist. Haldir rested his temple against the top of Dídauar's head as she continued.

"Four times, I watched him fall," she said, her eyes fixed firmly on the stone wall behind even as she wrapped her arms about Haldir's back. "After the third, Lord Elrond promised me that he would speak to your Lady, warning that Boromir was in danger, yet still he fell!"

"So that is why you are here," said Haldir in realisation. "You are here to avenge his death."

"I am here to ensure that Rohan does not fall into darkness by Saruman's hand without a fight," replied Dídauar, pulling away. "Boromir was not the only one I watched fall to the Enemy."

"Was it a Rohirrim? There is a sadness and anger that lingers about these people," asked Haldir. "Particularly the King."

"Their prince is dead," said Dídauar. "Slain whilst defending his people from the same Enemy we are about to face."

"Your colt," murmured Haldir. Dídauar's head shot up.

"Glorfindel said the same thing," she said. "Am I really that protective?"

"Of the ones you hold to your heart," replied Haldir. "But I cannot fault you for it is for that same reason I am here."

"Not you as well!" protested Dídauar. "I am perfectly capable of holding my own."

"At the risk of sounding nostalgic, to me you will forever be the eight-year-old child who unknowing wormed her way into my heart," said Haldir allowing a small smile. "And I am not the only one who refuses to believe that you have grown."

Dídauar groaned causing Haldir to chuckle slightly.

"Kalya, promise me that you will be careful tonight," he requested, taking Dídauar's head between his hands. "You cannot protect anything if you are dead."

"I promise," said Dídauar. Haldir pressed a kiss to her forehead, and Dídauar one to his cheek, before the two separated for their respective peoples.

* * *

"Now, this is more to my liking," proclaimed Gimli as the defending army stood watching Saruman's horde approach, gradually cutting off any hope of escape. "A wall which is thick enough for four men to stand abreast."

The atmosphere about the Keep being so tense, his gruff voice carried a substantial distance. Most of the Elves hadn't a clue what he had said but some of the Human's smiled slightly in amusement. Legolas, who was standing beside the Dwarf, offered a response but his musical voice did not carry as far.

"What I wouldn't give for a hundred of his people," muttered Halbarad from beside Dídauar. "But the skilled archers of Lothlórien are appreciated."

Gimli, being only four Elves away, heard the Dúnadan's comment. "It is dark for archery," he called back. "Indeed it is time for sleep!"

"As soon as battle starts he and Legolas will be in competition with each other," muttered Aragorn as he appeared between his kin.

"……Give me a row of Orc necks, and room to swing," Gimli was saying, only to be cut off by a crack of thunder and flash of lightening which illuminated the black sea that was encroaching on the Rohirric soil. A cry went up suddenly as horse hooves could be heard heading for the Deep. Five minutes later, another fifty men appeared along the battlements and Gamling was hurrying towards the twins and Haldir.

"They have breeched the Dike," he reported. "Their march is slowed but even now they press forward."

"At least they know that Rohan will not be as easy a victory as they have been assured," said Dídauar, the venom in her voice causing Aragorn to start. Yes, Dídauar hated the Orcs with almost the same intensity as the Elven twins but the elder child of Arathorn had the distinct impression that Dídauar was hiding something. He looked over at Halbarad, questions shining in his eyes but the older man shook his head. If Aragorn knew why they were in Rohan, his attention would be diverted and the people of Rohan could not afford that.

'A Eruchîn, ú-dano i faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas,' Haldir called to his people over another crack of thunder. In response the hundred Elves on the battlements notched an arrow to their bowstrings, though none applied tension to the string. Behind them, Rúmil could be heard giving the command to prepare to fire. _(Show them no mercy for you shall receive none)_

After what seemed an eternity, the army before them came to a halt just as the rain started to fall. The Captain of the Orcs gave out a roar, resulting in his followers beginning a rhythm on the ground. The beating of 10,000 spears was enough to make pebbles on the walls bounce and the noise was deafening as it was caught by the cove and thrown back.

* * *

Too many winters was not necessarily a bad thing, it being believed that with age one gained wisdom which could be passed to the younger generations. However, in a battle it was a curse. It was tiring for an Elf to maintain a bow drawn to fire for a great length of time but for a man who had seen battle for as long as Théoden had been King, it was doubly so. It was therefore no great surprise when an arrow was accidentally loosed from a Rohirrim's bow, imbedding itself in the neck of an Uruk-Hai. The pounding of spears and pikes stopped and a deafening silence echoed around the cove as the as _everyone_ watched the creature pitch forward. Haldir tightened the grip he had on his bow, his men following suit and taking aim, waiting for the Uruks to make the next move.

A scream of outrage from the Uruk leader preceded the start of the attack, the black mass storming to the walls like a swarm of flies.

"Rúmil!" yelled Haldir and the younger Elf was heard giving the call to fire. A hundred arrows flew over their heads and landed in the Uruks, some falling, others just staggering under the unexpected blow. Another hundred arrows flew, this time from the Elves on the wall. Arrows from the Rohirrim sporadically entered the fray but not at the same mechanical rate as the Elves. They continued in the same manner – a hundred arrows at a time, alternating between those on the wall and those behind it - until the Orcs began firing back, striking both Men and Elves. One of the Dúnedain who had followed Dídauar was sent flying back as an Orc bolt stuck him in the chest and Dídauar's eyes flared with a dangerous fire. He was followed closely by one of the Galadhrim which caused Orophin to snarl.

"Ladders!" yelled someone suddenly and the sound of blades being unsheathed sounded about the Deeping Wall, along with a worrying cheerful yell from Gimli. The defenders immediately started to hack at anything that came over the wall as Rúmil's archers continued to fire their arrows. Rúmil himself had found the quickest way possible to the wall and was now fighting back-to-back with Orophin. Aragorn and Dídauar were fighting side by side, Haldir and Halbarad guarding their backs, the four of them continually moving so as not to present an easy target to the Uruks who also continued to fire arrows.

"OROPHIN!" screamed Rúmil suddenly, causing Haldir to swing round, just in time to see the younger of his two brothers fly over the wall, an Orc leering in delight. Dídauar met Haldir's inflamed eyes and nodded.

"Go," she said. Haldir swiftly made his way through the sea of combatants towards Rúmil who was know lashing out violently at anything that wasn't defender. Aragorn and Halbarad immediately shifted their positions so that the three Dúnedain commanders formed a defence triangle.

As suddenly as it started, the battle seemed to stop, causing a strong sense of consternation among those who were defending the Keep.

"Do not tell me that _Orcs_ have suddenly got cold feet!" exclaimed Halbarad. Aragorn smiled slightly but Dídauar, who normally appreciated her cousin's impish, and occasionally inappropriate, humour was not impressed.

"Prepare yourself for the next wave!" she barked before marching over to Haldir who was regrouping his men, his violet-blue eyes shining with an angry fire. Rúmil looked equally volatile.

"Halbarad, tell me what is wrong with her," demanded Aragorn. "And I will make that an order if I have to!"

"The Rohirrim are important to her, you know that," replied Halbarad. "And she has a very justifiable reason for acting like a wounded and cornered she-wolf but it is _not_ mine to tell you. For now, I would suggest that you attend to the matter in hand, namely that trail of fire heading toward the wall."

Aragorn swung on his heel and followed where Halbarad was pointing. Cursing, and ordering Halbarad to remain with Dídauar, Aragorn took off at a run towards the trouble spot, gathering Gimli and Éomer along the way.


	11. The Rock Fall Before An Avalanche

**Chapter Eleven - The Rock Fall Before An Avalanche**

Battle raged on through the night, another lull in the fighting occurring just before the dawn, not that this dawn held much hope for the defenders, the Orcs no longer fearing the light and warmth of the Sun so assured of their victory as they were. They were spurred on by a mass of Dunlendings whose traditional hatred of the Rohirrim had been inflamed by Saruman. Continually cries of battle and death sounded from the Men along with cries for Théoden to be brought out to them so that 'justice' for the enforced migration out of Rohan in the time of Brego and Aldor and the death of Freca and King Helm's hand could be meted out.

An hour before dawn, the Keep was rocked by a fierce explosion, a huge fissure being cloven into the Deeping Wall by some wizardry of Saruman. Rubble was sent flying into the air, killing both aggressor and defender where it landed. Orcs and Dunlendings flowed through the gap and began to hack and hew at everything in their way. Aragorn, Háma and Haldir quickly realigned their forces to stop the invasion. Haldir fought like a thing possessed, Orophin's face clouding his vision as he lashed out. It did not help matters that the incursion had separated him from Rúmil as the Elf, along with Éomer and Gimli were forced to retreat into the caves which had no way of escape save for a hidden passage that would be missed in the heat of battle and panic. Háma, tiring from the heavy and prolonged fight, eventually succumbed to the overwhelming force of the enemy and was slain by a sword thrust to the chest. The Dunlending who had killed him cheered and shouted to his companions who each took a mutilating swipe at Háma's corpse with axes and swords as they past him. Gamling hurled himself into the fray, Dídauar directly behind him, the two warriors defending their fallen friend from any further dishonour.

"We have to retreat!" yelled Aragorn to Gamling over the clamour. Gamling looked mutinous at the idea. Aragorn hacked his way through the mass between him and his companions.

"We cannot stay here otherwise we will be lost as well! We have to retreat if we are to have any hope of victory," he shouted, continuing to fight.

"I will not leave him to be despoiled. I care not of how things are done by your people but we do not leave our dead to be sullied by their butchers," snapped back Gamling.

"Then gather him up but we have to retreat. Now!" fired back Aragorn.

* * *

A small group of warriors gathered in the main room of the Keep. Legolas stood with Haldir in his arms, restraining the Lothlórien Elf from tearing back outside and most likely getting himself killed, Haldir convinced that the Orcs had now taken Rúmil from him as well. Théoden stood with Aragorn, the two arguing heatedly over their next course of action, the younger man beginning to lose hope that his people would survive the hatred of Isengard. Dídauar stood, gazing at the western wall and mouthing a prayer for the fallen, beseeching Námo to accept each of valiant dead into his Halls while Halbarad sat with Tarcil in his arms though whether he was giving and seeking stability, it was unclear, it being discovered that Arahael had not made it to the Keep. His family could only hope that he had been forced to retreat into the caves where there was some chance that he would survive and was not buried beneath the carnage that had been left by the explosion. The Orcs had also managed to separate Gambling from his companions as they fled the battlefield.

"Prepare to ride," said Aragorn, resting a hand on Dídauar's shoulder. "We ride out with the King at first light." He could have phrased it as a request but Dídauar was in no state to respond to such. By phrasing it as an order, Aragorn was assured that she would follow and he could keep an eye on her for a few minutes more.

"Yes my Lord," replied Dídauar automatically, with a dip of her head. Aragorn gripped her shoulder before going back out to the wall, Legolas going with him and Haldir being dragged along as well. Those left with Théoden readied themselves for a mounted charge, preparing three extra horses for Aragorn and the two Elves for when they returned. As Dídauar pulled herself into her saddle, a horn echoed around the cove and the Rohirric riders on either side of her puffed up their chests in pride. The horn of Helm the Hammerhand sounded in the Deep once more, calling the Rohirrim to valour and arms, instilling the hope that seemed to have evaporated as soon as the Deeping Wall had been breached. The horn continued to sound as Aragorn came charging back into the room and quickly mounted Roheryn, Legolas leaping atop Arod while Haldir pulled himself onto Hasufel's back.

"Helm for Théoden King!" yelled a couple of warriors in the vanguard behind them, others taking up the call as Théoden himself took up the charge. Kicking Snowmane into a cantor as quickly as he could without causing the horse permanent injury, Théoden led his mounted warriors from the Keep, down the causeway and steadily cleaving a path through to the Dike. The dawn light glinted off swords, spears and the metal rims of the shields, blinding any who looked up at the riders. Weapons sliced through flesh, blood staining the ground beneath them. Behind them cheering began as the warriors who had been cut off by the invading Orcs fought their way back out of the caves, appearing at the various entrances just in time to spot their King and Captains charging as in stories of old. Their attention was soon grabbed by a blazing arrival from the east that wasn't the rising sun, but a mounted warrior with a red shield, a horn blaring at a different pitch from the horn of the Hammerhand. Foot soldiers, numbering at least a thousand, charged down to the fray, slaying a large number of Orcs, using the sun to their advantage.

"Its Erkenbrand!" yelled one of the Rohirrim to his King. Théoden swung around to see the bear like man seated upon his horse, a figure in white beside him. Together the two charged down the hill, the figure in white seeming to glow more brightly than the sun itself. Dunlendings fell to their knees and awaited their fate with the Orcs shrieked in pain as Saruman's enchantment that made them impervious to the Sun's rays was broken. Abandoning the fight, they ran for the welcome shade of nearby trees, only to be slaughtered once the last one had been encompassed by the dark.

Erkenbrand and the White Rider slowed their mounts to a stop beside Théoden and dismounted, bowing in respect. Aragorn realised a little to late what Dídauar's reaction to seeing the White Rider would be and tore after his sister, yelling at her to stop. Dídauar ignored him and swiftly crossed the distance that was between herself and Théoden, her bloodied knives crossed and settling upon the rider's shoulders.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you," she said, panting slightly with the mixture of excursion and adrenaline. "Why should we accept you as a friend when you have left nothing but betrayal and death in your path?"

"Because I am a friend," chuckled the rider. "If I meant harm, you would not be standing as you are."

"Is that what you told the Dunlendings? The people of Rohan? I have seen what you have wrought and I tell you they are no actions of a friend!" snarled Dídauar.

"Dídauar drop your weapons!" barked Aragorn as he appeared beside her. "Now!"

Dídauar spared Aragorn a startled glance but did not remove her weapons. The rider chuckled again.

"It seems your memory is not as good as it used to be, mellon nîn," he said, his eye twinkling as he looked at Aragorn. Aragorn scowled at him, gripping Dídauar's wrists. _(my friend)_

"Dídauar I mean it," he growled. "This is not Saruman."

"Aragorn, that would not convince _me_," smiled the rider. "Sadorennor, I see that word of my fall has reached you but your companions have forgotten to mention that I have been returned." _(Faithful to Middle-earth)_

Dídauar gasped at the name. It had originally been given in jest by King Thranduil of Mirkwood one midsummer when Dídauar had found herself in the middle of a debate as to why she wandered from The Lune to Umbar to the shores of The Rhûn and never seeming to swear loyalty to an individual, preferring instead to serve the people, regardless of race. However Gandalf, upon hearing the tale, had commented on how the name suited her and it became a pet name between the Dúnadan and Istari. Very few others _knew_ of the name, let alone used it.

"You can't be," she whispered, the grip on her knives relaxing slightly.

"Why not?" asked the wizard, smiling gently. "Glorfindel fought a similar battle and he was returned. Why not I?"

"I……" squeaked Dídauar, her ability to speak having vanished. She dropped her knives and wrapped her arms about the rider's neck. He chuckled once more and half returned the embrace.

"Something good has come out of so much death and darkness," murmured Dídauar. Gandalf pulled away, a small smile on his lips.

"Such is usually the case if one clings to hope rather than seeking despair," he said. Aragorn rolled his eyes but any comment he was going to utter was cut off by a shout from behind. Turning the group watched Éomer descend from the caves, Gambling limping beside him and Gimli, bloodied and bandaged, but proudly proclaiming his final total of 42 Orcs slain by his hand. Tarcil was also with them and the young man charged towards his father and twin, nearly knocking them off their feet as he collided with them. Also came Rúmil, looking ready to collapse and not from exhaustion of the battle but from the severing of his soul. Slowly, he made his way across to the red-cloaked Elf that was Haldir, as though he was approaching a startled beast. A few words were exchanged before Haldir pulled him too and the two Elves stood in on the battlefield, trying to come to terms with the premature and violent death of their kin, not least their brother.

"This victory was bought at too high a cost," said Aragorn, watching as Gamling came to his knees beside Háma's corpse which he had been forced to abandon in his own flight.

"But still it is a victory," said Théoden. "And such is the way of war."

"I may only be a Dwarf and have spent most of my life in a cave, but I swear there was no forest at the edge of this cove when we arrived yesterday," piped up Gimli as he appeared in their midst, Legolas at his side. "What wizardry have you conjured this time, master Gandalf?"

"The trees are no magic of mine," said Gandalf. "They are a power far older and was walking this earth in a time that not even the eldest of the Elves have the ability to remember."

"You are not going to tell us?" asked Théoden.

"I can show you if you follow me to Isengard," replied Gandalf. All immediately stiffened at the suggestion and the dagger on Dídauar's wrist found its way into her hand.

"We do not have the strength to assault Isengard otherwise we would have done so many years ago," protested Théoden. "Even should I gather all the men of the Mark to my banner we will still lose."

"It is not to a battle that I seek in Isengard but a parley," replied Gandalf. "I will command none to come with me, for it will be easier should they volunteer. If you do not wish to follow, I bid you wait for me at Edoras where I will join you before the moon has waned once more. Those who will to travel with me should rest now, for it is a good days march to Isengard and it will not do to appear on Saruman's doorstep looking like beggars off the road. Fallen he may be but he is still a mighty being and rightly commands respect."

* * *

The survivors of Helm's Deep spent the rest of that day tending the wounded, burying the dead and sending out riders to the far reaches of the Mark proclaiming the victory at Helm's Deep and baring summons for all able bodied men to head for Edoras with speed. In the mid afternoon, the surviving fifty Elves of the Lothlórien army departed the cove, bearing but one body with them – Orophin. They had burnt the bodies of their other comrades at the Deep, in as much of a Elven ceremony as the surroundings permitted but none could bring themselves to light the pyre that would destroy Orophin's body. Though taking him back to Lothlórien was only going increase the pain of his death, the Elves had pressed upon Haldir and Rúmil to allow his body to be returned to the Golden Wood and let the Lord Celeborn set the torch within his flesh. The two brothers had agreed but refused to walk with the litter. Their men understood and four departed half an hour before the rest.

"Try and stay alive," said one of the Elves as they took their leave. "Haldir and Rúmil cannot lose another and we cannot lose our captains."

"We will," said Aragorn, inclining his head to the Elf.

"Look after them," said Dídauar.

"I will. We _all_ will," promised the Elf before inclining his head and hurrying after his people.


	12. The Snake Is Defanged

**Chapter Twelve - The Snake Is Defanged**

The company, headed by Gandalf and Théoden, rode out of Helm's Deep at dusk, making their way through the forest and then turning north-west and heading to Isengard. Travelling up the banks of the Isen, they came across the mound surrounded by spears that still bore Théodred's standard. Théoden and Éomer broke away from the company to pay homage to their fallen kinsman. They were away for an hour but when they returned, a burden seemed to have lifted from their shoulders, both concerning Théodred and each other. The company then spurred their horses on, reaching the outer walls of Isengard just as the dawn light was creeping over the trees once more. The company were a little startled to hear laughter, shouting and the clattering of pots and pans as well as smell the smoke of a fire and whatever was being cooked.

"Gandalf what……" began Aragorn.

"You shall see, dear boy. You shall see," smiled Gandalf, his eyes twinkling. Fire minutes later, Aragorn's face split into a smile that could have lit the Caves of Helm's Deep that Gimli had been describing in great detail to Legolas. There, sitting in the middle of the drowned gardens sat Merry, Pippin, Culas and Nemír, the four gathered around a fire that was built on a wall so as it was not put out by the water while they themselves perched on nearby boulders, eating breakfast.

"Stop moving!" exclaimed Nemír as the tread of the horses disturbed the water about them and threatened to put out the fire. "I do _not_ want water on my tomatoes!"

"You're the one who is moving," fired back Culas. "And what do you mean _your_ tomatoes?"

It was Merry who noticed the new arrivals and stood proudly on his boulder, swaying a little, pipe held a couple of inches from his mouth.

"Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard!" proclaimed the Hobbit enthusiastically, forgoing a bow when his foot slid slightly on the rock and decided it would not be such a good idea lest he wished to head up head first in the flood water.

"Meriadoc son of Saradoc is my name and my companion, who alas has prepared to early for your arrival, is Peregrin of the house of Took, at your service." Pippin, who until this point had been giggling like a drunk as Nemír and Culas continued to bicker, gave an undignified grunt as Merry nudged him in the side with his foot. "Here with us are Nemír and Culas from the north."

"Where is Saruman?" asked Gandalf, smiling at Merry's speech, the young hobbit sounding comically pompous as he carried out the introductions.

"The Lord Saruman is within the tower, and at the moment he is closeted with one Wormtongue, or doubtless he was would be here welcome such honourable guests," replied Merry in the same manner of speech.

"Doubtless he would," replied Gandalf with a small laugh. "And was it Saruman who ordered you to guard his damaged doors? _When_ your attention could be spared from plate and bottle!"

"Our orders came from Treebeard," replied Merry proudly, not at all ashamed of the fact that he and his companions had been caught dealing out the spoils of the plunder. "Who has taken over management of Isengard."

"He commanded us to greet the Lords of Rohan with fitting words," said Pippin, having finally managed to control himself.

"And have you no greeting for your companions!" demanded Aragorn, leaning forward on Roheryn.

"Strider!" cried Pippin. Culas and Nemír were immediately on their feet dousing the fire with the subsequent splash. Aragorn inclined his head and smiled at the four.

"Gimli and Legolas as well!" exclaimed Merry, spotting the Elf and Dwarf. "And Dídauar!"

"You rascals! You woolly-footed and wool-pated truants!" exclaimed Gimli, unable to control himself any longer. "A fine hunt you've led us. Two-hundred leagues through fen and forest, battle and death!"

"And here we find you feasting and idling. And _smoking_!" exclaimed Legolas, continuing the Dwarf's rant.

"And where did you come by the weed, you villains?" exclaimed Gimli. Smoking without Gimli's knowledge or presence was a very serious matter and it would not go unnoticed by said Dwarf. "Hammer and tongs! I'm so torn between rage and joy, that if I do not burst it will be a marvel!"

"Will you two shut up?" asked Aragorn, swinging off Roheryn. No sooner had he hit the ground than Pippin threw himself at him. Laughing he swung him round like a child.

"You find us sitting on the field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts," said Merry as he too was gathered into Aragorn's embrace. Culas and Nemír had hurried over to Dídauar and together they dragged her from her horse's back and into a hug before repeating the action with Halbarad.

"The salted pork is particularly good," commented Pippin, turning back to Gimli.

"Salted pork?" demanded Gimli, all thought of the hobbits smoking without him driven from his mind at the thought of such a treat.

Pippin nodded at Gimli holding up a slightly damp chunk of meat and taking a bit, looking incredibly smug. Éomer, Théoden and their men laughed at the scene before them.

"So these are the lost ones of your company?" asked Éomer, glancing at Aragorn. The future King nodded.

"It is well that they were not found among the Uruk-Hai," said Éomer. "Such innocence is to precious to be destroyed."

"As wonderful as this reunion is, we must continue with our mission," interrupted Gandalf. "Merry, where is Treebeard? I must pay Saruman one final visit. It is dangerous and probably useless but must be done."

"Treebeard is away on the north side, I believe. He said something about getting a drink of water. _Clean_ water," replied Merry.

"Very well. Remain here while I speak to him. I will return soon," said Gandalf and nudged Shadowfax into a trot and made his way across the wasteland that was once the lush gardens of Isengard.

"Anyone for breakfast?" asked Pippin looking around at the four dozen warriors. Aragorn laughed and suggested that the hobbit show the way.

Gandalf spent half an hour with Treebeard before returning to the company in which time, Merry and Pippin were partway through their story following their kidnapping by the Orcs of Saruman.

"Treebeard has agreed to move his people from Saruman's sight. Théoden, since Saruman has done you grave injury, it would be fitting if you were at my side as I confront him. Those others who wish to accompany me may do so, but beware!"

"What's the danger?" asked Pippin. "Will he shoot fire at us or can he put a spell on us from a distance?"

"The latter is more likely, especially if you ride to his door with a light heart," warned Gandalf. "A wild beast cornered is not safe to approach. He may have lost his armies but he is not yet powerless. Beware his voice!"

Most of the Rohirrim who had followed their King decided to remain at the gate, still fearing Saruman despite the fact that his land was in tatters and they had defeated his force. Most of the Dúnedain also remained behind though Halbarad followed as Dídauar determinedly rode forward. Pippin sat before Gandalf while Merry was placed behind Aragorn.

* * *

"Saruman! Come forth!" called Gandalf coming to a halt before the great door of Orthanc and repeated banging the structure with his staff when Treebeard was no longer visible. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Théoden, Dídauar and Halbarad had followed him up the steps, leaving Merry and Pippin with the horses. Nothing happened for a few minutes. "Saruman!"

"How is it?" called back a voice. The fact that the conversation was being held at a shout, the words drifted over to those who waited by the gate. Most of the Rohirrim stiffened when they heard the voice. "What is it you want?"

"I know that voice!" snarled Théoden. "And curse the day I first listened."

"Bring out Saruman, since you have become his footman, Grima Wormtongue," shouted back Gandalf.

"Why must you disturb my rest?" called a second voice, the owner sounding like he had been served a great injustice. "Will you give me no peace by night or day?" The faces of the company contorted in suppressed rage.

"Come," continued Saruman. "Two of you, at least, I know by name. Gandalf I know to well to hope that he seeks help or counsel here. But Théoden, Lord of Rohan, why have you not come before and as a friend? Despite the injuries that have been done to me, and in which, alas, the Men of Rohan have played some part; I would still wish to save you from the ruin that draws nigh. Indeed, I alone can aid you now."

Gimli shifted restlessly beside Legolas, fingering the blade of one of his tomahawks. "The words of this wizard stand on their heads!" he commented. "In the language of Orthanc, help mean ruin and saving means slaying, that is plain. But we do not come here to beg!"

"Peace!" commanded Saruman. "I do not speak to you Gólin's son. Small concern of yours are the problems of this land, but it was not by your own design that you became embroiled in them. Allow me to speak with the King of Rohan, my neighbour, and once my friend. You have fought many wars, and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards."

"Lord, hear me!" begged Éomer as Théoden stood unable to speak. "Have you ridden forth from victory, only to be amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue? So would the cornered fox say to the hounds. All he desires is to be free from his captivity."

Dídauar moved to stand directly in front of Théoden, breaking his eye contact with Saruman and gripped his upper arms. "My Lord, think of Théodred at the Westfold. Remember Háma at Helm's Deep. It is because of him that they do not stand in your guard now."

"But come, Éomer, son of Éomund," said Saruman. "You slay those who your King deems enemies and do not question why, be content with your lot in life. And you Dídauar, daughter of Arathorn, you do not think of the sons and fathers that you slay in name of the country that holds your current interest, do not suppose to demand that others do the same.

"My Lord of Rohan, am I to be called a murderer because the valiant have fallen in battle? Shall we not have peace, you and I? It is ours to command."

"We shall have peace," replied Théoden. Éomer and Dídauar stared him in disbelief while a few guards cheered. "We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the Gate of the Hornburg are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, we shall have peace."

"Gibbets and crows?" snarled Saruman. "Dotard! What is the House of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? Too long have you escaped the gibbet yourselves." Dídauar's grip on Théoden's arm increased and the King looked her concerned. The elder warrior was shaking in suppressed fury, her face an obvious mask of anger and hatred.

"The victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."

"Saruman, your treachery has already cost many lives," Gandalf stated, before any of the Rohirrim or Dídauar could do anything rash. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them. You were deep within the enemy's counsel–"

"So you have come here for information," jeered Saruman. "I have some for you." He rested his arms on the balcony rail before him. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something which you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it. Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You are all going to die. But you know this, don't you, Gandalf?

"Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him. Those he professes to love," stated Saruman, turning to address the whole company. His tone was one of giving a warning that should be heeded for the good of one's health.

"Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the Halfling before you sent him to his doom?" hissed Saruman. "The path that you have set him on can only lead to death." By this time Saruman was gloating. Gandalf, though looking a little contrite at the mention of Frodo, who had received no words of comfort before he took his leave of the Fellowship and still believed the wizard to be dead, was not put off from his task.

"Come down Saruman, and your life will be spared. You can leave Orthanc _free_ if that be your choice."

"And what do you mean by 'free'?" demanded Saruman. "When you have the Key of Orthanc I suppose. And the Keys of Barad-dûr itself along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the Five Wizards!"

"When I say 'free', I mean free," replied Gandalf. "Free from bondage and command. And to go where you will, even to Mordor, if you desire. All I ask is that you return the Keys to Orthanc to their rightful owner."

"To the vagabonds that stands in your shadow," sneered Saruman and turned to leave. "I think not. Think out your deals with more care before approaching me again, Gandalf. Good day!"

"Saruman!" called Gandalf. Saruman spun back around on his heal, forced to stare down at Gandalf as the other wizard dealt out the punishment for his naivety and stupidity.

"Once you were white, then you styled yourself many coloured. You have become a fool Saruman. You have no colour now and I cast you from the order, and the council. Saruman, your staff is broken!" shouted Gandalf. The wooden rod that Saruman held in his hand shattered and the pieces fell to the floor at his feet. While Saruman gazed disbelievingly at his hands, Gandalf continued to speak.

"Saruman, you were deep in the enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"

"_You_ withdraw your guard, do not think I no not that the Ents are hidden just beyond my sight, and I will tell you where your doom is to be decided!" fired back Saruman, still determined that things were going to go his way. "I will not be held prisoner here!"

"You held prisoner by nothing but your stubbornness. Now go!" yelled Gandalf, having lost his patience with the man. Saruman howled and backed away, Gandalf seeming to glow brightly as he spoke.

"Look out!" yelled someone behind the company as a black ball came hurtling out the window, landing with a crash on the stairs on which they stood before falling into the flood water with a splash and a dull thud, mere yards away from the group.

"The murderous rogue!" snarled Éomer making to move forward. Gandalf caught his arm.

"Saruman did not throw that ball. Nor did he instruct its departure from Orthanc," said the wizard calmly, his statement confirmed by the howl from within Orthanc itself. "A parting shot from Wormtongue I have no doubt. But ill aimed. Peregrin Took, give it to me." The youngest Hobbit had slid from Shadowfax and gathered the object up from the water and was now labouring up the steps with his new burden. Pippin grudgingly handed over the object, Gandalf quickly bundling it up and hiding it from all sight.

"Let us get beyond a stones throw at least!" stated Gimli, already turning around. "One ill-aimed shot does not mean others are, and he may have other things to throw at us."

"No, we are forgotten, for the moment. But this is not a place to linger whether we are targets or not," said Gandalf, carefully securing the orb and ensuring it was kept out of Pippin's reach.


	13. For Every Action

**Dedication;** This one is for you IWishSan. You wanted to know what Éomer's reaction to fighting with his heroes would be.

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

The beginning of this chapter is a little fluffy but since there has been very little interaction between the twins (Dúnedain) I decided that it was warranted.

Book and movie are going to collide again in the next few chapters. I was going to try and stick with the book but I could get it to work the way I wanted so I compromised.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen - For Every Action**

Gandalf disappeared again to inform Treebeard of the situation, taking with him Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Théoden and Éomer returned to their people also to explain the situation. Merry and Pippin hurried back to their stockpile of food, though Pippin continually cast covetous glances in Gandalf's direction, making Dídauar wary of the object that had been thrown from Orthanc. Feeling out of place, Dídauar wandered to the outer rim of Isengard, the ruins of a wall marking the boundary. Her gaze was turned to the south east, though it was not Mordor that entertained her thoughts.

"It does not look pleasant wherever you are," commented Aragorn as he appeared beside his twin half an hour later.

"Nothing is pleasant when looked upon with regret," said Dídauar. "If I had my life back once more, I would change so many things."

"That is not an uncommon desire, simply look to the Rohirrim. But there is no telling what would happen if you did," said Aragorn. "Things happen as they do for a reason though that may be hard to see or understand at the time."

"I will _never_ understand why it is the young who are taken before the old," growled Dídauar. She turned around and sat on the sodden rock behind her. "This was a beautiful place once," she said with a sigh. Aragorn smiled.

"I remember having to retrieve Théoden and Byrde from a ledge on the battlements," he said.

"Ah yes, Thorongil the hero," grinned Dídauar. "Byrde brought that story into every conversation possible. I'm sure if you mentioned it now, Théoden would still turn red."

"Maybe I will try over dinner," said Aragorn, a mischievous spark appearing in his eye. Dídauar rolled her eyes.

"_You_ can sit opposite him in that case. _And_ explain to Éomer why his uncle is choking," she said.

"It is not my fault that he is afraid of heights. _How_ he survived on his visits to Minas Tirith I do not know," protested Aragorn.

"By not looking out the window or straying to the walls," replied Dídauar. "What would have happened if we had agreed to help Saruman in his search for the Ring while we were still in Thengel's service?"

"We wouldn't be alive," replied Aragorn. "We would either had died in the attempt to find the Ring or Saruman would have sold us out at the first available opportunity. It would not have been hard to persuade the people that our intimate behaviour with each other was more debauched in nature than we protested."

"Eadwig and Cempa will be pleased," said Dídauar with a sad smile. "Neither were appreciative of Saruman's 'help', it usually resulting in one or other of them being injured somehow."

"What is wrong?" Aragorn asked suddenly.

"Your pardon?"

"I may not be not a sage or Elf, but I _am_ your brother. Something has had you agitated since your arrival. What is it?"

"I was betrayed," replied Dídauar. Aragorn stiffened.

"By who?" he demanded.

"Galadriel," said Dídauar. Now it was Aragorn's turn to be confused.

"How? You haven't spoken to her for years!"

"Boromir could have been saved," said Dídauar. Aragorn was getting even more confused.

"Small words and proper sentences," he requested. "I was in battle less than a day ago and have yet to sleep."

"I had a vision. Four times. In it I watched first Théodred, then Boromir, struck down in battle with Orcs. I spoke to Lord Elrond after the third time and he said he would speak to Galadriel. I rode out to Rohan, intent on saving Théodred, only to arrive too late so I turned my attention to his people. It was my understanding that you would have been informed about Boromir's fate while you were still in Lothlórien and thus _not_ go by Sarn Gebir," explained Dídauar. "I was distressed to find that Galadriel had not told you and that Boromir was also dead, hence my agitation and temper in the battle. It did not help that Orophin was also slain, defending a people that did not even know his name."

"You seem to be remarkably calm about this," commented Aragorn.

"Who would you have me take my temper out on?" Dídauar asked. "Galadriel? She is leagues away and far more powerful than me. I would be lucky to make it to her talon untouched. Our people? They have had to deal with me becoming increasingly tetchy in the past month and I would like for the Rohirrim to listen when I speak. I have no other choice but to accept what has happened."

"My ear is there if you wish to chew. And I will act as a punch bag if speaking does not relieve your pent up frustration," said Aragorn, wrapping an arm about Dídauar's shoulders. Dídauar rested her head against Aragorn's shoulder.

"Thank you," she murmured. Aragorn increased his grip and pressed a kiss to the top of Dídauar's head.

* * *

The survivors of the Helm's Deep battle who had accompanied Gandalf to Isengard spent until mid-afternoon in the ruined stronghold of Saruman, resting from the battle and journey as well as taking their fill of the stockpile of food that Saruman had collected. They were 'kind' enough to leave some for the fallen wizard and his servant but it was meagre picking at best. Still, as one of the warriors had put it, they had been surviving on little better since Wormtongue had managed to utter his whispers straight into Théoden's ear. Both Éomer and Théoden found it difficult to deny them their small luxuries, especially when the defence was argued in such a way.

Pippin also managed to cause a panic.

Gandalf had become engaged in a conversation with Quickbeam. For all the rumours about being 'hasty', they were obviously from an Ent's perspective because the young Ent took just as long to say 'good day' as Treebeard did, and Gandalf had found himself distracted. Pippin, who had spent the morning sending covetous looks in the direction of Gandalf's pack, saw his chance and snuck the Orb away to one of the nooks and crannies that now littered Isengard. Merry had gone with him, mainly to talk his younger cousin out of looking at the object that even Gandalf appeared afraid to touch. Unfortunately he had not been successful and the warriors in Isengard were only altered that something was amiss when Pippin's piercing cry was heard.

"Pippin!" yelled Aragorn, unable to locate the Hobbit. Merry appeared seemingly out of nowhere and two Dúnedain and an Istari charged towards him.

"What has happened?" demanded Gandalf, as they discovered Pippin curled tightly on the ground, whimpering in what appeared to be pain. While Gandalf demanded answers from the sandy Hobbit, Aragorn and Dídauar went to their knees beside Pippin.

"He was looking at the thing Wormtongue threw done," admitted Merry. "I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen."

"The thing Wormtongue threw done?" repeated Aragorn, looking around for the Orb, finding it only a couple of feet away, Pippin obviously having dropped it in his pain. A reddish-yellow seemed to flicker on the inside of the object in a way that reminded Aragorn of flames. He reached out to touch the object but Gandalf beat him to it, throwing a cloth over it and snapping Aragorn out of his trance.

"The Palantír," murmured Gandalf. "Well, that certainly solves more than one riddle. But what has our young Halfling done to himself?"

Pippin seemed to recognise Gandalf's presence and slowly uncurled, turning in the wizard's direction. "It is not for you, Saruman! I will send for it at once," he hissed.

"Pippin!" cried Merry, lurching forward, only to be caught around the chest by Aragorn.

"Do you understand?" demanded Pippin, the voice that he was using still not his own.

"Peregrin Took!" barked Gandalf. Pippin jerked.

"Gandalf?" he pleaded. "Forgive me! Please forgive me!"

"What have you done?" asked Gandalf. Though it was plain what had transpired, Gandalf needed to hear Pippin admit his transgression.

"I looked into the ball," murmured Pippin, casting his glance away from Gandalf's.

"What happened?" asked the Istari. "Did you see anything?"

"Tall battlements. Dark sky and tiny stars," said Pippin. "The night was clear but something made the stars go in and out. Something that was big with wings. One of them flew straight towards me and……" Pippin tried vainly to hide his face which plainly spoke of his terror.

"What else?" demanded Gandalf, forcing Pippin to maintain eye-contact.

"A Great Eye of flame in a black sky," replied Pippin.

"What did you say?" asked Gandalf, the wizard not deeming it necessary to inform Pippin exactly what, or rather _who_, he had witnessed. Pippin's eyes rolled back in his head and when he spoke again it was not with his own voice.

"So you have returned! Why have you neglect to report for so long? That is not Saruman, who are you?"

"What did you say?" repeated Gandalf. Pippin jerked again.

"I didn't want to say anything!" he protested. Gandalf, while maintaining a stern look on his face, cupped Pippin's hands in one of his own and caressed the Hobbit's cheek with the other in a gesture meant to sooth the terrified youngster. "But something pressed me very hard. I couldn't stand it and I said I was a Hobbit. It laughed at me."

"Frodo?" asked Gandalf. "Did you say anything of Frodo?" Pippin did not answer and after a couple fruitless minutes, Gandalf dropped Pippin's hands and Aragorn released Merry. The elder Hobbit practically leapt on his cousin, hugging him tightly at the same time chastising him for not listening to him.

"I will find Culas," Dídauar said before beating a hasty retreat. Gandalf himself settled before the two Hobbits and Aragorn, withdrawing his pipe and lighting it, clearly lost in thought. Aragorn himself continued to gaze at the bundle that was the Palantír, also lost in thought.

* * *

Mid-afternoon saw both warriors and horses fed, watered and ready to ride once more. Théoden and Éomer led the troop out of Isengard leaving the Ents to guard the fallen Istari. Behind them rode Gandalf, who still looked deep in thought and he held the bundle that was the Palantír tightly before him. Aragorn was astride Roheryn, Hasufel having now been released from service and allowed to wander where he chose, Pippin held tightly in his arms as the dark-haired hobbit continued to sleep thanks to the mild poppy infusion that Culas had given him. Dídauar was to his left, Merry seated behind her and clinging to her waist for what appeared to be dear life. Avalanches, spying carrion, dark caves, Orcs and kidnap the Hobbit could do. Being sat astride a spirited fifteen hand mare who was 'controlled' by an equally spirited master was another matter entirely. Gamling and Halbarad rode slightly out from the column, on opposite sides, both choosing a position that was most beneficial to the protection of their respective Lord and Captain should the need arise. The remaining Rohirrim and Dúnedain followed in a column formation, the two peoples mingling and neither seeming to care whether his neighbour wore red and gold armour or green and tan leathers.

The journey back to Helm's Deep was swift, the horses suitably rested to cope with a sustained cantor across the Rohirric Plains and there being no forest of Huorns to negotiate. They arrived at the Deep just as the sun was beginning to align with the crest of the valley and were greeted with cheers from the warriors that had not followed Théoden. Théoden and Gamling were also pleased to find that the Dunlendings who had surrendered after the battle had been put to task, which confused the Dunlendings completely, each one of them having been convinced that the Rohirrim tortured any prisoners. Never had Théoden been more pleased to have been proved wrong. He ordered that they finish the reconstruction of the Keep and Deeping Wall that they had wantonly destroyed. They were then free to return to their people. None of the Dunlendings wished to push his luck further and set to the task with surprising vigour.

* * *

"Does anybody care to explain what is going on?" enquiry Éomer as he sat with Théoden, Gamling and Dídauar. The survivors were gathered in the main hall of Helm's Deep to celebrate the lives of those they had lost. Gimli was currently passed out on the floor having engaged in, and lost, a drinking game with Legolas. Legolas himself had escaped the noise and smell of ale and was now standing on the ramparts of the Keep. Aragorn and Halbarad were having a terse debate about _something_ but were being ignored by a vast majority of the people. Merry and Pippin were the centre of attention once more as they danced on the table signing one of the songs from their misspent youth in The Shire.

"Well," began Gamling with a smirk. "The men are trying to drink each other under the table. The Holbytlan are polishing the table with their feet and the Lord Aragorn appears ready to throttle his second."

Éomer glared at the Helm's Deep captain while Dídauar snickered and Théoden smiled broadly.

"That is not what I meant," growled Éomer.

"What did you mean?" said Théoden resting back in his chair.

"How is it that a stranger is fluent in our language and how they know you on an intimate enough basis for you not to question their motives in our country," replied Éomer. Théoden's eyes flicked to Dídauar, a warm glow beginning to rekindle in the hazel depths.

"You tell him," he said, before taking a mouthful of wine. Éomer's eyebrow hiked towards his hairline.

"You asked at Helm's Deep whether I knew Faerlain and Thorongil," began Dídauar. Éomer nodded. "The truth is that _I_ am Faerlain. Aragorn is Thorongil." Éomer choked on the water he had just poured into his mouth.

"_You're_ Faerlain?" he repeated once his coughing had subsided. Dídauar nodded. Éomer turned to his uncle, an accusing look in his eye.

"You could have told me!" he exclaimed.

"So could Gambling," replied Théoden calmly. "As could Háma, Erkenbrand or Grimbold. She served with them all, and was Captain to Gambling and Grimbold in the months preceding your grandfather's death."

"Are all the stories true?" asked Éomer, turning his attention back to Dídauar.

"That depends on the stories," said Dídauar leaning back and drawing a knee to her chest.

"That you beat Grandfather in hand-to-hand combat. That no one save Thorongil could best you in sword play. That you had not one but _two_ champions," expanded Éomer, causing Gambling to shake his head at the young warrior's enthusiasm. Still, it wasn't every warrior who could say that they had fought side-by-side with their hero.

"Yes, though to be fair, I was half your grandfather's age. I have scars to prove that more than Thorongil bested me in battle and Eadwig appointed himself my champion. Cempa came as part of the package and was more of a peacemaker," answered Dídauar.

"Háma also said you were very modest," muttered Éomer.

"What else did the scamp tell you?" smiled Dídauar.

"That you didn't care for politics but could still do a better job than those who claimed to be experts. That you wouldn't swear an oath to an individual but rather a people. You were an impossible patient when you were injured. Théodred repeatedly told a tale in which you had been shot twice and sliced across the calf but continued to fight. He enjoyed telling me that one whenever I ended up bedridden because of a seemingly minor injury," said Éomer.

"Politicians forget about the people, I worked with them so of course I knew what they needed and what they didn't. I was not in Rohan to serve Thengel or even my Captains. I was in Rohan to serve the people so it was to them that I swore an oath. To which I still hold. And Théo exaggerated that story. It was only one arrow, and I remained on my feet for another ten minutes at most before collapsing with pain."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Éomer. "It always seemed to grow in detail every time he told it. When I said so, he claimed to have remembered more details since the last time he had told it."

Dídauar laughed. "He mingled stories," she said. "I was shot twice in one battle, during which I was taken out of the action completely because my head connected with a rock as I stumbled, knocking me out cold. In another I was victim to yet another arrow wound and slashed calf. As I said, I only last ten minutes after that." She glanced up to see Aragorn stalking out of the room, Halbarad trailing behind him looking as though he was going against his better judgement.

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

"Why did you leave?" It was not Éomer who spoke this time but Gambling.

"I wished to hide. I couldn't do that in Rohan," replied Dídauar as she stood. "Excuse me."

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Gambling. Théoden shook his head.

"She never liked to dwell on the negative experiences of her life. She left Rohan because of Aragorn, that is all I will say. The rest is their affair."


	14. Fate: She Is A Fickle Mistress

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

Dídauar is not being condescending with regards to Pippin. He _is_ a child and therefore immature, though not as naïve as he was at the beginning of the quest.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen - Fate; She Is A Fickle Mistress**

"Where are your going?" asked Dídauar, catching Halbarad's arm.

"Your brother is going to make the biggest mistake of his life," replied Halbarad with a growl. "Gandalf gave him the Palantír and the idiot is going to use it."

"He's what!" exclaimed Dídauar.

"I am going to use the Palantír," replied Aragorn, the elder child of Arathorn having stopped upon hearing his sister's voice.

"Why?" demanded Dídauar. "Estel that thing is dangerous. You saw what it did to Saruman. What is did to Pippin. Even Mithrandir wont touch it or let it be seen!"

"I have both the right and the strength to use it," replied Aragorn.

"You have the strength to challenge Sauron?" questioned Dídauar. "Estel, not even the strongest and wisest beings on this earth are capable of that. The _Valar_ couldn't control one of their supposed servants. What makes you think a _mortal_ will be able to cope?"

"It is either that or we let his attention remain on Pippin!" exploded Aragorn. Dídauar inhaled sharply.

"Pippin can be protected in other ways. For a start, he is no longer in Isengard. You do not have to do this!" she protested.

"I will not be crossed on this Dídauar," barked Aragorn. "He has stood unchallenged long enough." With that, Aragorn turned back on his heel and marched towards the room that he had been assigned.

"Do not leave his side," said Dídauar, turning to Halbarad. Halbarad nodded and hurried after his younger kinsman while Dídauar turned back into the throng, making as direct a path to Gandalf's side as she could, varying members of both the Dúnedain and Rohirrim began to succumb to the affects of their alcohol consumption. However, she didn't get further than ten yards before she was hauled into the middle of the horde by Erkenbrand, who thankfully had been watching his drinking level.

"A night like this would not be complete without a song from a guest," said the warrior. Dídauar shook her head in protest as Erkenbrand continued to back into the mass until he reached the empty space in the middle.

"What say you lads?" Several of the warriors cheered, including Gamling who had migrated down from the main table.

"Your guests have been singing to you all night," Dídauar protested, gesturing to Merry and Pippin who were still standing on the table and taking a moment to quench their quest, racing each other as they did so.

"Sadorennor, you are not backing down from a challenge are you?" questioned Gandalf as he became visible within the crowd. _(Faithful to Middle-Earth)_

"You have a habit of siding with those who wish to hear me sing," remarked Dídauar.

"You wouldn't oblige otherwise," smiled Gandalf. Dídauar sighed before sitting cross-legged on the table, hauling both Hobbits off their feet and on to her lap, Merry protesting as the remainder of his ale was spilt in the process. The only songs Dídauar could think of at that particular moment were the drinking songs that she had heard while on watch around The Shire and while Merry and Pippin had probably sung most of the ones she knew already, most of their audience was either beyond caring or beyond comprehension. Such a state of affairs was probably just as well because someone, be it Fate or Lórien, the master of Dreams and Visions, decided to visit another vision upon the warrior.

Engrossed in entertaining her audience, which Dídauar did with natural ease despite her protestations, and the smell of ale and cider being strong within the hall itself, she missed the telltale smell of spiced apple that preceded an episode. She also ignored the clouding of her vision that was also an indicator.

The two Hobbits on her knee yelped sharply in protest when Dídauar moved suddenly only to shout in terror as they watched her fall back her eyes completely out of focus and her body bucking violently under the additional strain. Gandalf and Théoden reacted to the shout, it not being one of jovial nonsense but of panic.

"Move!" commanded Théoden to the men that were surrounding Dídauar. The men parted as Théoden surged forward, and watched with mingling confusion, panic and wonder as Théoden set himself on the edge of the table, gathering one of Dídauar's hands in his own and cupping her cheek with the other, running his thumb gently over the skin just below her eye.

"Calm down," he murmured, feeling Dídauar's breathing and heart-rate increase to panic induced levels. "Shush, you'll be alright. Just calm down."

Dídauar gave a choked cry as she emerged from the vision, and she lay panting for breath struggling to regain her equilibrium. Théoden turned to Gamling.

"Find one of her kin who is sober," he ordered, gathering Dídauar to him and pushing his way through the crowd once more. "Bring them to her chamber. Master Hobbits kindly go with Gandalf and find Aragorn."

* * *

Théoden marched through the corridors of Helm's Deep, coming to a halt before Dídauar's room.

"Can you stand?" he asked of the woman in his arms. Dídauar nodded weakly and Théoden set her on her feet, holding a steadying arm around her waist, whilst he turned the door handle. Dídauar limped towards the bed, leaning heavily on Théoden as her head remained groggy. Gratefully she settled on the coverlet, closing her eyes though not quite falling asleep, just needing the quiet that the darkness promised. Théoden busied himself with removing her boots, the daggers at her ankle and wrist and her vambraces, before pulling up the thick woollen blankets that were folded at the bottom of the bed.

"Can you tell me what happened?" asked Théoden, setting himself beside Dídauar and gathering one of her hands again.

"Large battle by a golden city. So many people, so many bodies," murmured Dídauar. "A dead tree surrounded in flame and beginning to fall. A noble tower collapsing, wrapped in a banner of red."

"Did you recognise anyone?" asked Théoden. Dídauar shook her head carefully.

"Only faceless dead," she whispered. Théoden was prevented from replying by a gentle knock to the door and Tarcil appearing around the edge. Théoden smiled gently at the younger man, who bowed in respect.

"You sent for me my Lord," he said, closing the door behind him.

"I did. I'm afraid that your Captain has been taken ill," said Théoden. Tarcil cocked his head.

"Ill?" he echoed. "She was fine but half an hour ago."

"Some ills sneak up when least expected or desired," said Théoden. Tarcil immediately stiffened, his gaze flicking to Dídauar who had succumbed to the darkness that had offered her peace, even if it was for a few hours.

"She is suffering enough," whispered the young man, taking a step forward. Théoden canted his head.

"You know of her gift?" he asked. Tarcil let out a derisive snort.

"'Gift' is the last word I would use for it," he replied. "Curse would be a better choice. Has she told you what she Saw?"

"She did. But it made little sense," replied Théoden.

"Her vision never do at first glance," replied Tarcil taking a seat. "What did she tell you?"

"That thousands more will die. She called them the faceless, nameless dead. A battle outside a golden city and a tree surrounded by flame as it fell. Finally a tower collapsing, wrapped in a red cloak."

"They are faceless because she is not meant to save any of them," said Tarcil, his years of experience in helping Dídauar interpret her visions allowing him to draw quick conclusions. "And their number is so high because such is the way of battle, which will be worse than the one we have just fought. I have no idea about the others though."

"There stands a dead tree in the court of Minas Tirith," remarked Théoden.

"And has stood that way for nearly a hundred-and-fifty years, it is not the White Tree that is in danger of burning," replied Tarcil. "Though Minas Tirith may well be the golden city."

"In my language, its name means 'protecting hill'," commented Théoden.

"And in Sindarin, it means 'tower of the guard'. However when Anarion built it, it was called Minas Anor which means 'tower of the sun'," replied Tarcil. Théoden conceded that it was plausible, especially considering Sindarin was an official, if ill-used, language of the Gondorian court. Such a metaphor was indeed apt but it still didn't help them decipher what the vision meant.

"What of the tower wrapped in red?" asked Théoden. Tarcil shrugged.

"I have no idea. When she watched your son fall, she was shown a house collapsing. Maybe we are still waiting for the missing piece of the jigsaw," said the younger man, instantly regretting his choice of words as Théoden's face rapidly lost colour. "My Lord I am so sorry. I……"

"No its alright," said Théoden with a small, pained smile. "As much as I hate to accept that my son is dead, I understand that such is the fate of a warrior. It is rare for the noble and just to grow old and die peacefully in their sleep."

Tarcil caught the hint of self-recrimination in Théoden's words and rested a hand on his forearm, forgetting for the moment that this was a King.

"My Lord, for as long as I can remember, I have heard tales of you and your people. From the nine-year-old Prince who was still a little unsteady on his feet in a relatively new country to the youth who fought with his heart more than his head to the King who wanted nothing more than a safe country for his son to grow up in. Never once did I hear of the hierarchy hiding away with their comforts. Of a ruler who gave orders without looking out his front door first. Her words painted a picture of a man who would do _anything_ if it meant his people would live to see another day, even if he did not."

"And a man who belongs to fiction only," sighed Théoden.

"No!" protested Tarcil. "Shadow is not one to paint fanciful tales. Reality is too much part of her life for her to escape it, even in her dreams. She spoke of a righteous ruler of Rohan and somewhere behind the walls you have erected about yourself, he still exists."

"You seem sure of your conclusions. You have only been in Rohan for two days," said Théoden.

"I watch anyone who gets close to Shadow," said Tarcil with a shrug as he stood. "And since you have a place in her heart, I will trust you. Good evening my Lord."

Théoden started. "You will not stay with her?"

Tarcil smiled. "It is not my hand that she is holding, nor is it my presence that has her calm," he said. "Goodnight, my Lord."

* * *

Gandalf was not a popular person come the morning. During the night he had made the decision to leave Rohan and that he would be taking Pippin with him. Pippin was distressed at this decision, which had been made with him being asked, and he looked pleadingly at Merry, begging his cousin to say something in his defence. Unfortunately, Merry was equally upset so unable to do anything but nervously fidget. Théoden's men were muttering about being abandoned once more when they faced a less than appreciated future while Halbarad had been plotting revenge on the wizard since he witnessed Aragorn react badly to looking in the Palantír then found out that Dídauar had received a vision at almost the exact same moment. Halbarad simply did not believe in coincidences and had deduced that Gandalf's manipulation of the situation was the cause. Dídauar and Aragorn were equally unimpressed with Gandalf after they discovered that their twin had spent the night unconscious and not from the effects of the alcohol they had consumed. As they listened to his plan, the temper that both had reputedly inherited from their mother began to rise.

"Sauron believes that the Palantír is still in Isengard and that the hobbit, he does not know _which_ hobbit, is held prisoner there," Gandalf said as they were gathered in the hall of Helm's Deep, which was surprisingly clean considering the ruckus that had been created the night before.

"His gaze will have moved to Isengard and will be fixed there until his suspicions are confirmed or proved false. We must snatch that time. Once he realises his mistake, Sauron will swiftly move to rectify his blunder. Minas Tirith is now in grave danger for it is there that Sauron will attack upon his discovery."

"But why do I have to leave?" demanded Pippin seeing that no one was going to hurry to his defence.

"Because your foolish actions have placed not only you but your kin and the quest in jeopardy," replied Gandalf harshly. Dídauar snarled at the Istari causing him to raise an eyebrow.

"I looked in the Palantír as well yet you do not insist that I leave," said Aragorn folding his arms.

"You were merely a distraction to Sauron, a fly that needs to be squashed. He believes however that Pippin has the Ring. He must leave this place for his own protection. I had also hoped to find something useful for him to occupy his time with once we reach Minas Tirith."

"The heir to the one who weakened him for nearly three thousand years is merely a fly!" snorted Halbarad.

"When compared to the one who has the key to his immortality, yes he is a fly," replied Gandalf calmly.

Dídauar moved herself in front of Pippin, glaring at Gandalf. 'Do not blame Pippin for being a child!' she hissed in Sindarin. 'Saruman was considered wisest of your kind yet he fell into the snare which Sauron set, _how_ was an immature Hobbit supposed to resist?'

'By listening when he was told no,' replied Gandalf, refusing to rise to Dídauar's temper.

'That only added to the temptation,' snapped back Dídauar. 'Minas Tirith is not a welcoming place and Denethor has become increasing xenophobic over the past few years. And do not forget that Pippin is the one for whom Boromir fell!'

'Kalya,' murmured Aragorn, resting a hand on her forearm. Cracks were beginning to appear in the mask that Dídauar was wearing and her temper was seeping through. However, it was not a good idea to have her release her pent-up frustration on Gandalf. For one thing, Dídauar respected the Istari and would be horrified to learn what she had done when her head cleared should she lay a hand on the other. She had enough to be dealing with without the additional guilt of lashing out at an ally.

'If you take him, you are responsible for his safety,' said Dídauar, her attention still on Gandalf. 'If he has so much as a scratch when I see him next, I will be holding you responsible.'

Gandalf chuckled at the threat, knowing that the next time they met, Dídauar would be begging for his forgiveness. Subconsciously, Dídauar acknowledged the same but for the moment, her she-wolf characteristic springing to the fore as it was prone to do in recent weeks. To her, Pippin was a cub that needed protected. Not mollycoddled into believing that he was incapable of doing anything, just coddled enough so that he was able to attempt something new but knew that there was still someone there who was accept that maybe this time wasn't the right time. Dídauar was confident that the 'old' Gandalf wouldn't have dragged the Hobbit away from what little stability he had. This new one however didn't seem to care what was in Pippin's best interests, only that Sauron was destroyed.

"Dídauar hold your tongue!" barked Aragorn. Dídauar stiffened upon hearing the name that crossed her brother's lips and cast her eyes to the ground in submission.

"When Gondor calls, Rohan must be ready to answer," said Gandalf, turning his attention back to Théoden, who had been sitting listening as the various parties argued. He felt sorry for the young Hobbit who had apologised on numerous occasions but was still being dragged from all he knew. At the same time he understood that for his own safety, and the safety of the people of Rohan, he had to leave. He gave a brief nod which was all the confirmation that Gandalf needed. The wizard turned on his heel with a call to Pippin to follow.

"Pip wait," said Dídauar taking a step forward. Pippin did as he was bid, looking expectedly at Dídauar, as was everyone else. Dídauar went to her knees before Pippin and untied a leather throng from around her neck. She pressed the attached charms, as well as a dagger, into Pippin's hand.

"Give this the Steward of Gondor. He will recognise it. If not, give it to his son, you will know him when you see him," she said. "The dagger is for you. May the Valar keep you safe, and I promise that this is not the last time you will say farewell to your friends."

"Peregrin Took!" snapped Gandalf from the doorway in which he stood having discovered the Pippin hadn't followed him. Dídauar growled in her throat.

"Say farewell to your friends, then follow the wizard," she said, nudging Pippin towards the company that stood behind her.


	15. Another Day, Another Path

**Chapter Fifteen - Another Day, Another Path**

"We have to make our own way to Gondor," said Aragorn four hours after Pippin's departure.

"I thought that's what Théoden agreed to do," said Halbarad as he sat sharpening his sword. "Once he receives a signal from Gondor, he and his men will ride."

"We must leave sooner," said Aragorn. "It is time for us to part company with the Rohirrim."

"And go where?" asked Dídauar, resting her head against the wall behind her.

"When first you arrived in Rohan, Elladan gave me a message from Lord Elrond. He bid me remember the words of the Seer," replied Aragorn. Dídauar sat bolt upright.

"Paths of the Dead?" she asked. Aragorn nodded.

"None have ever returned from the Dimholt road," exclaimed Dídauar in alarm.

"I do not intend to return," said Aragorn. Dídauar's eyes went wide. "Once I start upon that path, I will have no choice but to continue forward, whether to victory or my death I do not know."

"Most likely your death if you call traitors to your ranks," muttered Halbarad, now searching around for his cleaning rag.

"Is there no other way?" she begged. Aragorn shook his head.

"Even should every Rohirrim able to ride was to answer Théoden's call, they would not be enough. If Boromir spoke true then the Gondorians are spread too thin as well. We have no other choice but to call upon the forgotten warriors," he replied.

"What do you propose to tell Merry?" Dídauar asked. "Most _Men_ do not have the heart to pass through the Door, a young Halfling will certainly not survive."

"Merry has more courage than even he is aware of," said Aragorn. "But you are right, the Paths of the Dead are no place to take an innocent. It will best if he stays in Rohan."

"I will go and speak with Théoden," said Dídauar standing up. "Then I have some old friends to visit, do not expect me for a few hours."

Aragorn and Halbarad watched her go, an odd look shining in Aragorn's eye. He turned to Halbarad.

"She is hiding something," he said. Halbarad cocked his head.

"She is?" he asked.

"What was her vision?" asked Aragorn. "She has not spoken of it, yet for it to be sent it must be important."

"Battle by a golden city. Thousands of dead, a burning tree, a figure and a red tower falling," replied Halbarad, recalling what Tarcil had told him as he watched over Aragorn. "Tarcil and Théoden think the city is Minas Tirith and that the dead have no faces because she is not supposed to help any of them. Other than that, they don't understand."

Aragorn sat mulling over the information for the next half an hour muttering to himself and tracing patterns on the table before him as he thought. Dídauar was known for making off the cuff gestures and seemingly irrational decisions but there was always a reason, even if it wasn't understood initially. Now however, Aragorn was at a loss as to what his sister was doing. The charms she had given Pippin had rarely left her neck from the moment she was given them, the memory of the two who had gifted them being to precious for her to lose. He clearly remembered an occasion when they _had_ been removed because Elrond had needed to treat an swipe to the curve of her neck and the thong was in way. Dídauar had panicked and then, once the charms were returned, reprimanded Elrond in a way similar to how she dressed down a disobedient soldier. It simply did not make sense for her to give them away to the Hobbit when there was very little chance that she would see them returned.

Eventually, having gotten nowhere with the sketchy details of the vision, and the seeming disjointed actions of Dídauar, Aragorn stood up.

"I'm going to find her," he said tracing Dídauar's footsteps. Halbarad raised an eyebrow.

"What have I missed?" he asked to his deserted surroundings.

* * *

"Kalya!" called Aragorn as he hurried after the retreating back of his sister. Dídauar, who was heading down the steps towards the memorial garden of Helm's Deep, stopped and turning, canted her head in question.

"Are you alright?" she asked when Aragorn reached her side.

"No," replied Aragorn before taking Dídauar's arm and dragging her into the nearest alcove.

"What has you so flustered?" asked Dídauar once she had found herself deposited on a stone shelf.

"What did you See?" demanded Aragorn. "Why did you give Pippin your charms with the explicit instruction that they were to be given to Denethor?"

"Because they are unique and unless Denethor's memory has been addled he will recognise them," said Dídauar. "I sent them as a sign of hope and promise of help."

"There is little use in promising what you cannot deliver," replied Aragorn. "Did Denethor not say that he would have you thrown in jail should you attempt to contact his family again?"

"And you will be allowed to simply ride through the Gate?" demanded Dídauar. "I was not the one who willingly abandoned his friend!"

"What did you See?" asked Aragorn, bringing the conversation back to its original starting point.

"Surely Halbarad has already told you," replied Dídauar.

"He told me a brief outline. Kalya you have never been this defensive about a vision before. What did you See?" asked Aragorn, taking a seat.

"A golden city, which I believe to be Minas Tirith. Even more so, given what Mithrandir and Boromir have said," said Dídauar. "Thousands of dead bearing no face. They represent a nation. A red cloak, which is the banner of the Haradrim."

"Halbarad also spoke of a burning tree," said Aragorn. "Also a falling figure and collapsing tower. What do they mean?" asked Aragorn. Dídauar shook her head, biting her lip as she did so.

"Kalya who are they?" prodded Aragorn. Dídauar refused to speak but her gaze had become fixed on the spot where Orophin had been killed.

"Haldir?" he asked. Dídauar bit back a sob and nodded. Aragorn's breathing hitched when he identified the second casualty.

"Halbarad?" he whispered. This time Dídauar couldn't suppress the sob. Aragorn reached out and pulled Dídauar to him, wrapping one arm around her chest and cradling her head against his shoulder with the other, thinking over what else had been shown, namely The White Tree of Gondor. The Tree had been tied to the life of the Ruler of Gondor for as long as records existed. To have it burning was definitely not a good sign and could only mean that either their lives, or the lives of the Steward was in grave danger. Believing it unlikely that Dídauar would have so calmly accepted the fate of her twin, or have been given a glimpse of her own fate, Aragorn's mind turned the family of Húrin. Boromir and Finduilas were already dead, which ruled them out as the casualty. From what Boromir had said on the quest, Denethor was becoming increasing secluded which would make it harder for him to be a victim, though not impossible. A final name, which was attached to an as yet unknown Captain floated around the elder twins mind and though he was loath to cause Dídauar any further pain, he spoke it.

"Faramir?"

Dídauar's last emotional defence collapsed at her feet and she clung desperately to Aragorn as she sobbed into his shoulder. Aragorn held his sister tightly as the emotional storm swept through her, silently pleased (and hating himself for it) that Dídauar had finally broken. Dídauar allowed very few people to see behind the mask of Dúnedain Captain and allowed even fewer to her heart. It was an emotional defence she had developed early in childhood to prevent betrayal. The young and innocent had a knack of chipping away at that defence and though even they rarely penetrated, Dídauar would fight to protect them with everything she had irrespective of the fact that one day it may cost her life or whether the defended knew of her actions. The small number of those she trusted completely and loved unconditionally was slowly being reduced while all she could do was watch, each death bringing her more and more pain because of it.

"We will protect them," whispered Aragorn. "Rúmil and Celeborn will hold Haldir to this world. Halbarad will be guarded by our people and Faramir will be watched like a hawk by his if Boromir's tales are to be believed."

"It won't be enough," sobbed Dídauar. Aragorn increased his grip, running his hand through Dídauar's hair and pressing a kiss to her crown.

"We will protect them," he repeated.

* * *

"I had hoped that there would come an hour where we draw swords together," said Éomer as the Dúnedain, along with the Elven twins, Legolas and Gimli, saddled up. "But no one who sets out along the Dimholt Road has returned to tell the tale."

Aragorn smiled at the young man before holding out his hand. "We shall draw swords together, but not this day," he said. Éomer grasped Aragorn's wrist firmly.

"I will hold you to that," he said. Aragorn inclined his head before hauling himself on to Roheryn's back. Dídauar approached Éomer, a determined, yet slightly haunted, look in her eye.

"Do not stray far from the side of your King," she said. "And protect Merry."

"I will not stray from his side," Éomer vowed. "And Merry will never leave our sight. I swear." Dídauar inclined her head in acceptance.

"Nan lû i agovaded vîn," she said holding out a hand to Éomer. Éomer took it, once again looking like an eager schoolboy in the company of his heroes. _(Until next we meet)_

"Good luck," he said, not actually understanding what Dídauar had said but understanding enough to know that it was a farewell of some kind. Dídauar gripped his wrist slightly tighter before climbing on to her mare's back and walking to Halbarad's side. Aragorn gave a final salute to Éomer before calling out the order to ride and his people trotted from the courtyard before breaking out into a cantor as soon as it was safe for their horses to do so.

* * *

The company of two-dozen rode through the day and arrived at Edoras just before dusk. Éowyn, who was still in charge awaiting the return of her uncle, was pleased to see them and welcomed them to Meduseld which was once more coming to life again. She bombarded Aragorn with questions concerning her people, especially Théoden and Éomer, whilst seeing to it that the riders were fed and given a place to sleep. When she found out the reason for their departure from the King, she was devastated.

"Do you seek your death?" she demanded, confronting Aragorn who was sitting by the open fire that blazed in the centre of the Golden Hall. The heir of Isildur had been chewing he end of his pipe, lost in thought as the flames danced before his eyes. It appeared that he had actually forgotten to ignite the weed held in the bowl as his thoughts jostled for position in his mind.

"I go where I must," replied Aragorn removing the pipe and raising his eyes to meet Éowyn's.

"You needed on the battle field!" protested Éowyn, the volume of her voice indicating that she disapproved of Aragorn's choice. "More than ever we need warriors of skill."

"I will be on the final battle field. As for now, I go where fate decided long ago," replied Aragorn.

"We make our own fate," replied Éowyn firmly. "Would you at least consider waiting for my brother and the King to return?"

"We would not have left them if it was our intention to ride in their company," said Aragorn, running the pad over the bowl of the pipe as he spoke.

"Then take me with you," begged Éowyn. Aragorn shook his head solemnly.

"I will not take a woman into battle, least of all this one," he said.

"A woman rides within your company!" exclaimed Éowyn. "You let your love ride out to battle yet you command me to stay, skulking in the hills where I am little more than a dry nurse! Where is the valour in that?"

"My Lady," began Aragorn. "Valour is not always to be found on the battlefield. Many who find it there do not live to hear it boasted. Deeds do not have to be renown to be valiant."

"Yet still you allow _her_ to ride to battle and glory while commanding _me_ to remain to find bedding and food when the warriors return," replied Éowyn.

"That is an honourable charge," said a voice behind them.

Aragorn and Éowyn both turned in the direction of the voice. Aragorn smiled when he saw Dídauar standing by a pillar a gentle smile gracing her features. She had been out gazing at the stars, desperate to know whether Haldir was still with them, no matter how faintly. Even a whisper of life was enough to give Dídauar hope. Aragorn stretched out a hand towards her and Dídauar gladly accepted the offer.

Standing before the pair, Éowyn watched with an increasingly distressed gaze. It became more obvious when Dídauar wrapped her arms around Aragorn from behind and pressed a kiss to her brother's crown. Aragorn tilted his head back and kissed her cheek in an equally chaste manner though that was not how Éowyn interpreted the move.

'You are happy,' commented Aragorn.

'Haldir's star still shines,' replied Dídauar. 'You are ignoring the lady,' she added when Aragorn continued to study her, having plainly forgotten Éowyn's presence. There was little wonder that there had been numerous rumours that the relationship between the twins was stronger and deeper than they protested. Gestures that were natural, and wholly chaste, to them, were most certainly open to misconstruction. Aragorn tilted his head back so that he was able to look at Éowyn, who was looking like she was caught between envy and terror. When she spoke, it was the envy that was voiced first.

"I am a shield-maiden of Rohan," she said. "I have as much right to fight and defend my people as she does." Théoden had warned her that Aragorn's heart was already taken, and had been for longer than she, Éowyn, had lived but that had not stopped her from fantasying that one day Aragorn would be hers. Now the challenger to her pursuit was apparently in the same room as her.

"Which gives you the duty of protecting those who are weaker than yourself," said Dídauar, removing her arms for around Aragorn and standing up straighter. "Caring for your people, and those who return from battle, injured and grieving, is not as thankless as you believe it to be."

"I am of the House of Eorl, not a serving woman," protested Éowyn. "I can fight as well as my brother and cousin."

"You cousin died!" said Dídauar sharply causing Aragorn to grip her wrist. "The rest of your family barely made it through the battle at Helm's Deep."

"I do not fear pain or death," stated Éowyn drawing herself up.

"Then what do you fear?" asked Aragorn.

"A cage," replied Éowyn.

"If only we all lived within such gilded cages," rebuked Dídauar, pulling her wrist from Aragorn's grasp. "Excuse me."

Aragorn bend his head forward and scrubbed a hand across his face in exasperation. He had thought that Dídauar would begin to emerge from her shell following her outburst that morning but it was obvious that not even a hairline crack had appeared. Éowyn scowled at Dídauar's retreating back before turning back to Aragorn.

"You would make her your Queen?" she asked.

"No, she is my sister. Forgive her Éowyn, she is still grieving for those we lost in the battle. For your people and her own," he said. Éowyn flushed and quickly cast her eyes to the ground.

"I am sorry my Lord, I thought……" she began. Aragorn smiled gently and took one of Éowyn's hands in his.

"You thought nothing different from what your forebears did when first we arrived in Rohan," said the Dúnadan Chieftain. "Do not follow us in the morning, Éowyn. You will only be chasing a dream which I cannot fulfil."


	16. Confessions And A Plea

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

**HIGH LEVEL OF ANGST IN THIS CHAPTER**

Some of the details in this chapter relate to Dídauar's past which I haven't gone into a lot of explanation. If you have any question feel free to ask and I will do my best to answer them.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen - Confessions And A Plea**

Dídauar sat on top of one of the stables, fingering a trinket that was usually woven through her hair – seven fine chains of Mithril and gold links, each ending in a star and gathered together by a eagle – and was lost to her memories, both of the Stronghold and of Gondor.

A gentle smile graced her features as the image of a fox-copper haired, sea-blue eyed toddler flitted across her mind, followed quickly by a child with sandy-gold hair and eyes of the purest jade. The family of Húrin had been her saving grace in Gondor. Being cooped up within the City walls and restricted by the harsh rules of the military, Dídauar had found escape by watching the brothers grow up. Denethor had not been keen on allowing another waif from Rohan into the tight circle that was his family, following Aragorn's unexpected departure and the subsequent betrayal that he had felt. However, within a year Dídauar had been accepted into the machine that was the Húrin household and try as Ecthelion might, he could not pry the second child of Arathorn from his son's side. It had been Faramir that had discovered the charm, Dídauar simply slipping it into her hair rather than hiding it among the Elven braids she habitually wore. After a little persuasion, she had told the story of how she possessed such a treasure, especially when she had lived the life of a warrior of the wilds for most of her life.

It had been Halbarad who had gifted her what he called a trinket, though to Dídauar it was anything but a trivial possession. _Where_ he had got the money still remained a mystery but Halbarad had commissioned the charm from the Elven Smiths of Imladris for her twenty-sixth Birth Day. Knowing how little Dídauar cared for symbols or tokens that would attach her specifically to a particular race or nation, Halbarad had insisted on a fairly generic looking star insignia – though if each was examined closely enough, an etching of the Star of the Dúnedain could be found on the metal – as well as an eagle. Dídauar bit her lip as her thoughts returned once more to her cousin.

The elder man was the one link she had left to the past when she had been called carefree and innocent. From as early as she could remember, he had always been there when she needed him, though often it was only in dreams that they could meet, the leadership of their people being so arduous a task that he was limited to visiting Imladris every three years. Once the twins had returned to their people and taken over the role of leadership, Halbarad continued to stand in the shadows gently guiding as the two regained their feet in a world that was alien to them and quite prepared to jump in and defend either youngster. The charm which she was playing with had been gifted mere weeks before she had departed from underneath his wing, and remained unseen and unheard from for over thirty years. She had worn it religiously, whether woven through her hair or attached to a leather throng and tied about her neck, since the day she had been given it and when in Gondor, feeling lost, abandoned and betrayed by those closest to her, she had come to see it as a beacon of hope that maybe _somebody_ was waiting for her to return.

And now her pillar of strength was in danger, along with youngest son of Gondor. While Dídauar had internally acknowledged who her vision had been about, to say it out loud would make it _too_ real and would challenge the Fates into making it reality. If she kept the knowledge of Halbarad's predicted fall a secret then she had a greater chance of preventing it. Faramir unfortunately was out of her reach but she had learned not to concern herself with the things that she could not alter. Besides she had the feeling that Pippin would latch on to Faramir in much the same way he had Boromir.

"You'll need this," said Elrohir as he appeared beside her. Dídauar jumped in surprise when her foster-brother spoke. Elrohir smiled gently.

"You are lost in the past again," he said, settling down and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. "And I am at a loss to say whether your memories were pleasant or not."

"For the most part they are pleasant," replied Dídauar, pulling the blanket about her and tilting her head to Elrohir.

"So it is the present that has you troubled," said Elrohir reaching out and brushing her cheek. Dídauar nodded and turned her face away.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about. The last time I did that, Fate took me at my word," replied Dídauar, still not looking at Elrohir.

"And you will self-destruct if you don't say something," said Elrohir. Dídauar shook her head.

"I can't take the risk," she said. "Too many have been lost already."

"Secrets do not keep anyone safe," cautioned Elrohir. "And while you may wish to protect another by remaining quiet, I will not have you run yourself ragged under such a burden."

"How do I tell someone that I see them fall?" asked Dídauar. "How do I persuade one who has been my champion from the moment I was born that he must allow me to ride to battle alone?"

A few names quickly ran through Elrohir's mind as to who had watched Dídauar for so long, including himself, Elladan, Halbarad, Aragorn and a Ranger who went by the name Tarondor, though the last was quickly dismissed, the man being far from supportive of the twins and only numbering among the grey company because he was at the Stronghold when they set out. Aragorn was also dismissed because while he was protective of his sister, Aragorn had not championed her in any way until they had arrived in Rohan during their youth. Even then he had given such a privilege to a native soldier. Which left the Elven twins and Halbarad. Both Sons of Elrond were again partial to protecting Imladris' young fosterlings, Elladan tending to sway in Aragorn's direction if a choice had to be made, such an action being perfectly natural for a Guardian, but Dídauar response did not seem to support the theory that either of _them_ were in danger. Besides, she spoke of one not two and it was a well known fact that the Sons of Elrond could not be parted, in life or death. Which left only Halbarad, and Elrohir felt his heart clench painfully at the realisation.

"So you know," said Dídauar, risking a glance back at Elrohir. The inexplicable connection between the younger of each Imladrian twinnings made itself known once more, allowing a gentle trickle of emotions to flow between them. Elrohir felt Dídauar's pain while Dídauar felt Elrohir's sympathy and regret.

"This is not something you should carry yourself," persuaded Elrohir. "Tell Halbarad and maybe he will stay."

"Not if I ride forth and I cannot stay here while everyone I love is put at risk," said Dídauar, fisting the blanket and pulling it closer as she hugged her knees. "I am not a fire side Captain."

"But you will never know unless you speak," said Elrohir.

* * *

Later that night, Dídauar could not sleep. Aragorn had curled up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist as was the norm when the two were gifted with the opportunity of being in the same place at the same time, and quickly been ensnared by the dreamscape of Lórien. Dídauar however tossed and turned as she too was tempted by Lórien but not with the promise of peace that her brother received. Eventually she kicked off the blankets that cocooned the pair and crept out of Aragorn's embrace, sneaking across the sleeping quarters with no more noise than a mouse. She found Halbarad sprawled on his back, one hand resting across his chest while the other had settled just above his thigh. His sons were curled beside him, Tarcil flat on his back with Arahael draped across him and wrapped securely within his elder brother's arms. Settling down beside Halbarad, Dídauar studied his sleeping form, memorising the serene look on his face.

"Would that I could make you stay," she murmured tracing a finger across Halbarad's creased forehead, her touch as light as a butterfly's and her words little louder than a gentle breeze that broke the night air.

"Would that you had not promised."

Dídauar continued to study her cousin, losing track of time as she did so. Eventually Halbarad stirred, whether to stretch out his muscles before returning back to Lórien's embrace or because he had sensed Dídauar watching him was impossible to tell.

"You should be asleep," he said, rubbing his eyes so that he could focus properly on Dídauar.

"I can't," replied Dídauar.

"You are not trying very hard sitting watching me," said Halbarad, sitting up and crossing his legs, swung round to face Dídauar. "Why _are_ you watching me?"

"I need a reason to watch over my kin as they sleep?" asked Dídauar canting her head and deliberately avoiding the question.

"When your brother lies but ten feet away but has none of your attention, yes you need an excuse," replied Halbarad. "What's wrong?"

"I want you to stay," said Dídauar. "Do not follow us into battle. Return to our people in the north." Halbarad's eyes widened.

"Why?" he demanded.

"I want you to remain safe," said Dídauar, not looking at Halbarad.

"So you would have me turn tail and run!" exclaimed Halbarad. "Abandoning my sons and you two?"

"Estel and I will keep an eye on the boys. We can watch our own backs," retorted Dídauar.

"What are you hiding?" demanded Halbarad, fighting to keep his voice down as he agitation and anger rose steadily.

"Do not ask me that," begged Dídauar. "I will not tempt Fate to take me at my word again!"

"What are you hiding?" repeated Halbarad, gripping Dídauar's upper arms forcefully so that she had no option but to remain seated before him. Dídauar shook her head, biting her lip as her gaze became clouded.

"Please," she begged. "Do not make me answer. Too many have been taken already."

"Who do you See fall?" hissed Halbarad. Dídauar choked, a tear escaping her eye as she met Halbarad's gaze.

"You," she whispered. Halbarad's jaw dropped in shock and his grip on Dídauar's arms relaxed sufficiently to allow her to pull free, fleeing into the dark and becoming her namesake of the north. Halbarad didn't think twice about getting up to follow her.

* * *

"The only way I will return to the north before the final battle is fought is if you are at my side," said the Dúnedain Commander as he caught up with Dídauar.

"Then you will not return at all," snapped Dídauar angrily as she turned on her heel to face Halbarad. "Would you have your sons watch you fall then force them to carry your body back to the north!"

"Instead you ask me to wait for you!" retorted Halbarad equally angered. "I did that once, I am _not_ doing it again."

"I can't risk you Halbarad. You are all I have left of the past," begged Dídauar. Halbarad canted his head.

"You usually try to forget the past," he said folding his arms. "I would have thought this war was the perfect opportunity to relieve yourself of the few ties that still remain." Dídauar lunged at Halbarad, slapping him hard across the face before ramming him hard against the nearest solid support, the front of his shirt gripped in her hands to hold him in place.

"You would have me wish you dead!" she exploded. "If I did, do you _really_ think I would wait until the climax of this war? Would I beg you to return to our people? Even _tell_ you that I Saw you fall?"

"Perfect plan," shrugged Halbarad. He knew he was deliberately riling her up but Dídauar had to break. Even if it meant him dragging her kicking and screaming from her shell, pushing every one of the wrong buttons and pulling every emotional cord possible, Halbarad was going to have her deal with her grief before they entered yet another battle. If she continued to bury her emotions, they would reappear at the most inappropriate moment and she would go down. Dídauar would never see such a consequence as anything but a necessary sacrifice of war but Halbarad knew how many lives would shatter if she fell.

"I do not have to kill people to remove them from my life," hissed Dídauar. "And if I wanted you dead, I would not have waited until we rode to war."

"True, you never can trust an enemy," mused Halbarad. "You would be better doing to yourself." Dídauar jerked him so that his head collided with the post against which he was pressed.

"You are the one constant in the whirlwind that is my life," she said as Halbarad blinked in the attempt to clear the stars from his vision. "The one remaining link to a past where I carried a mark of innocence. Who still seeks to find that mark, regardless of how faint it has become. Who waits with open arms and a welcome smile no matter how long we've been parted."

"May be it was you who just got hit on the head because I am not Lord Elrond, nor am I Elrohir," said Halbarad.

"They changed," replied Dídauar. "After I was taken they changed. When they told me I could See, they changed. When I stopped being Kalya of Imladris and became Dídauar of the Dúnedain they changed again. You? You were always the same. The same loving, encouraging, protective Halbarad you were from the moment I was born and you will be as long as you live. That is why I need you to return to the north, or at least stay here in Rohan. I cannot remember childhood innocence without first fighting through the battles, the bloodshed and pain. You help guide me through that and show me what it is I am fighting for, what can be achieved if only we hold on to hope and trust in the Valar."

"I can't," whispered Halbarad, raising his hand to brush away the tears that formed in Dídauar's eyes. "It is because I still see that innocence that I cannot let you ride out alone. I know you will have thirty other people following you and each one would be more than willing to lay down their life if it meant your survival but I won't be able to see you. I pray that no harm befalls you when you reach Gondor, but if it does, I need to be at your side as you recover. I need to hold your hand and reassure myself that you haven't followed your father. Too many times have I come close to having that fear realised that the word of another no longer suffices."

"And I can't lose another!" cried Dídauar, the pain evident in her voice. "Please Halbarad. This is not my last battle, I will return. If you follow me, you have already given your last goodbye."

"So be it," murmured Halbarad, cupping Dídauar's cheek. "I am a warrior, little one and was so long before you were born. Dying on the battlefield seems appropriate considering how I have lived my life."

Halbarad's acceptance of his fate, fear completely absent from the acknowledgement, was too much for Dídauar and she released a choked sob. She sought to flea again but Halbarad held her still, wrapping his arms tightly around her, one hand going up to cradle Dídauar's head as she buried it into Halbarad's shoulder, using the muscle and fabric to muffle her cries while she clung desperately to the elder man, finally succumbing to the tidal wave of emotions that had been threatening to drown her since first she saw Théodred's mound.


	17. Ghosts

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

I'm twisting canon a little in this. I've had so little of Boromir in this tale that I'm going to include him among the army of the Dead. If you want to be picky as to why, _movie_-Boromir swore that Gondor would see that the will of the Council was done. This is his way of doing that.

**Chapter Seventeen - Ghosts**

As the sun was rising, the Grey Company came upon the Door to the Paths of the Dead. It had taken a day to ride from Dunharrow to the Dimholt Road, each gallop of the horses or step of the rider becoming harder than the last. None knew what they were being led to, most only having a basic grasp of the history surrounding the place. Not even the Elven twins fully understood what lay beyond the arch and their Dúnedain counterparts only choosing this road because there was no other choice for them. Aragorn had revealed to Dídauar and the Elven twins as to why he had chosen what could only be classed as suicide; a fleet of Corsairs was making its way to Gondor, to aid Sauron in his capture of the western country. If the heirs to Isildur wished to catch another glimpse of the Tower of Ecthelion glittering in the sunlight and watch the banners of Minas Tirith flutter proudly in the wind, they simply had no other option but to call traitors into their ranks.

"The Dead made this way," muttered Legolas as his gaze drifted across the entrance. "They do not suffer the living to pass."

"They will suffer us," replied Aragorn.

"My death lays beyond," said Halbarad more to himself than anyone else though his voice carried across the silent company. His sons, as well as Culas and Nemír, started and stared at the man. Tarcil's gaze quickly switched to Dídauar who hung her head. The smoke-grey eyes of Halbarad's first born widened and he turned to face his brother. Arahael's hazel eyes also widened and he looked between Dídauar and Halbarad in panic.

"But I will brave the road none the less. But our horses shall not enter."

"Our horses will brave any path we dread so long as we ourselves do not succumb to dread and fear," replied Dídauar, her gaze darting between the four youngest members. Culas and Nemír nodded but Tarcil and Arahael continued to look understandably panic stricken. With a nod to Aragorn, she took the younger twins by the arms and led them a small distance away from the group.

"Does he speak the truth?" demanded Tarcil, mindful to keep his voice low. "Or is he merely being pessimistic about the outcome of what we are about to face?"

"He speaks the truth," replied Dídauar.

"And you let him ride!" exclaimed Tarcil.

"I did not _let_ him ride," said Dídauar sharply. "If I had my way he would be on his way back to the North or at least still be in Rohan. Your father knows his fate should he follow and still he chooses to do so. All we can do is guard his back and make sure he does not fall."

"So you have cleansed yourself of any guilt should he fall because you _told_ him?" snarled Arahael. "Does that mean that you feel no guilt that Rohan's Prince and Gondor's Steward-heir are dead? Because you _warned_ the Lord Elrond that they were going to fall and that you _tried_ to reach Rohan in time!"

Two things happened in very quick succession once Arahael had completed his sentence; Tarcil lashed out at Arahael, backhanding him sharply across the cheek, before Dídauar propelled him against the nearest support while Elrohir – who had been standing close by – threw himself at a stunned Arahael, the latter pair crashing to the ground in an painful tangle of limbs.

"Don't," warned Dídauar as Tarcil struggled against her. "Tarcil no! Not on the eve we ride for battle."

"Why should I trust that you mean well?" demanded Arahael, struggling against the Elf who pinned him to the ground. By this time fear and anger were in control of the younger of Halbarad's sons and he wasn't really thinking about what he spat at Dídauar, nor did he care what effect his words would have on his cousin.

"You had plenty opportunity to reach Rohan. Instead you delayed and people died. How can you ask me to trust that you mean well by my father when he still rides at your side?"

"That is enough!" snapped Halbarad standing between his sons, a furious fire burning in his eyes as his gaze connected with first Tarcil's then Arahael's gaze.

"I ride because I am bound by oath and love. As do you! We ride to a war from which there is very little chance that _anyone_ will return. Sauron has gained much of his former strength his power and any discontent between those who oppose him will be exploited! Do you really wish for him to gain a stronger foothold in our world and destroy what good we have bled to protect? If so, please continue with what you are doing. If not, shut up and leave your fighting for the battlefield! Mount up and get ready to ride. Arahael, you are riding by me. Tarcil, you ride with Tarondor. Move!"

"Yes sir," muttered the twins, Arahael walking smartly towards his roan mount and hauling himself into the saddle without so much as a backwards glance in his twin's direction. Once Arahael was safely in his saddle, Dídauar released Tarcil and pointed him in the direction of Tarondor, her eyes and face emotionless.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

The Grey Company lost track of the time the rode the Paths of the Dead, the ghosts which Aragorn had summoned making their presence felt even if they could only be seen by those with the keenest eyes and steadiest heart. Panic had threatened to take hold of the company when the few torches they had were extinguished by the ever increasing presence of the ghosts. Never had any of the riders been so glad to see the face of the moon and the pin-prick of stars as on that night, though they were given little opportunity to admire the sight as Aragorn pushed them on to the Stone of Erech. The dead warriors were not yet sworn to fulfil their oath and could turn on the company without so much as a warning.

Aragorn marched towards the Stone of Erech, unsheathing Andúril as he went. Dídauar went with him as she too was 'heir of him to whom the oath they swore'.

"Oath-breakers, why have you come?" asked Aragorn.

"To fulfil our oath and have peace," replied the ghosts as they gradually developed a form, though they maintained an other-worldly appearance. Those who stood nearby drew away from the dead warriors, each fighting to keep their terror from showing in their eyes.

"Once you swore to purge this land of the servants of Sauron, though your fled when called. This land once again needs purged of that same evil. Join with us and fight, and I will hold your oath fulfilled," beseeched Aragorn.

"And who are you to offer us this? What gives you the right to command us?" asked one of the ghosts detaching himself from the main throng. Aragorn raised Andúril, pointing the blade skyward and resting the crossbar at his chin.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the one to who you swore your oath," replied Aragorn, the bright moon and numerous stars glinting on Andúril's blade. The ghosts seemed to dim slightly in the presence of the sword.

"Follow me and I will hold your oath fulfilled!" shouted Aragorn, for some reason praying that the feelings of the majority would be enough to sway the decision of the host. The one who had spoken considered Aragorn and Dídauar who themselves also seemed to have taken on an other-worldly appearance, though those who saw would put it down to the presence of the ghosts. Eventually the ghost gave a half bow and an ancient salute and the Rangers breathed a sigh of relief. Dídauar glanced round at the men and then at Aragorn who inclined his head.

"Take your rest," called Dídauar as Aragorn re-sheathing Andúril. "We ride out at dawn."

If the situation hadn't been so tense she would have laughed at the fleeting looks of terror that past over several faces. Rest? With hundreds of ghosts surrounding you? Even Dídauar had to admit that she was asking for a miracle but she knew that the men had to at least be _offered_ the chance of rest even if they didn't take it.

_TTEOARTTEOAR _

As the Rangers set about pitching a meagre camp, staying as far away from the ghosts as they could without leaving the camp or seeming impolite, Aragorn and Dídauar managed to disappear causing Gimli to echo the words of the Rohirrim who had watched them leave first Helm's Deep then Dunharrow. Legolas whacked him sharply on the upside of the head and reminded the Dwarf why Fate had forced them to take this road. Gimli thankfully relented but was still not happy about being surrounded by hundreds of ghostly warriors, be they sworn to Aragorn or not.

"Who are you looking for?" asked Aragorn as Dídauar meandered through the host of the Dead, examining clothing and faces, clearly looking for someone she recognised.

"Do you not remember the oath Boromir swore when still in Imladris?" Dídauar asked.

"He swore no oath," said Aragorn. "None of the Fellowship did."

"What did he say once it had been decided that the Ring would be destroyed rather than used as a weapon?" prodded Dídauar.

"If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done," replied Aragorn. He gasped in shock. "You don't think……Kalya he won't be here, he didn't swear an oath to Isildur, nor could he break one to the Fellowship. No oath was placed upon him to be broken!"

"The Boromir I knew would not see it in such a way," replied Dídauar. "And once an oath was sworn or a promise made, Boromir would not relent or forget."

"Now why does that sound familiar," muttered Aragorn, casting his glance back to the camp were Halbarad was currently chastising his sons for their behaviour on the other side of the Door. Neither appeared too impressed with their father or twin.

"Using Halbarad as an example, do you think he would sit in the Eternal Halls while either of us remained in mortal danger?" asked Dídauar. Aragorn shook his head.

"The same applies to Boromir. He may not have been an oath-breaker of old but an oath-breaker he is. Faramir is still in danger and the Quest is not yet complete," continued Dídauar.

"I'm sorry, where does Faramir come into this?" asked Aragorn.

"When Faramir was born, Finduilas knew she would not be around to see him grow up. She asked Boromir to always look out for Faramir. Surely you noticed how determined he was to return south?" replied Dídauar.

"I thought he was desperate to get back to defending his people," muttered Aragorn.

"And in doing so; Faramir," said Dídauar, abandoning the current circle of ghosts and moving towards another huddle.

"So why are you seeking him out?" asked Aragorn following her.

"To apologise," replied Dídauar. Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"Beg your pardon?"

"For being unable to prevent his fall," replied Dídauar. "And for Faramir being in danger." One of the ghosts moved violently at her words and Dídauar made a bee-line for them, leaving Aragorn standing with his mouth hanging open. Quickly realising he was gawking and not particularly wanting to be left standing alone amongst the dead army, Aragorn hurried after his sister.

"What do you mean apologise for Faramir being in danger?" he demanded. "You haven't placed the Orcs in his path. Nor have you commanded Sauron to focus his attacks on him!"

"No, but I have Seen and cannot prevent. Estel, you know why I am sent visions. I am supposed to be able to change something but this time I can do _nothing_ but watch. I have no Elf Lord to confide in. I have no mind-speech to deliver a message. I do not even know where Faramir is so that I myself can ride to his aid."

_He will be in Ithilien,_ said a voice that might as well have been the wind as far Aragorn was concerned. He had not seen any of the ghosts speak and none of them seemed to be making themselves known to the pair. Dídauar however was focused on a sole entity.

_Sauron has been forcing our borders for years. Ithilien is the path to and from Mordor,_ continued the ghost.

"Why has he not been drawn back?" asked Dídauar. "He is heir to the Stewardship now that you have passed!"

_Why are you here?_ asked the ghost in response.

"Because those I lo……" began Dídauar before tapering off, realising what the ghost was meaning. The entity nodded once in agreement.

_He fights for the same reasons. Even if Father did not order him there, he would return while just one of his men remained standing,_ they continued.

"As would you," muttered Dídauar. The ghost smiled and moved forward causing Aragorn to blink in shock.

_We are defenders of the weak and the innocent first, heirs to a Kingdom second,_ said Boromir. _You taught us that. Already my death has saved many and freed a people that have long felt the grip of tyranny. It was not a pointless sacrifice. Do not blame yourself. If it was to be prevented, it would have been._

"But I……"

_My Lady, I was told of what awaited me should I continue on the Quest,_ said Boromir with a small smile. _And still I chose to follow._

"You knew!" exclaimed Dídauar. Boromir nodded.

_But I am a warrior, I had a duty to carry out. The cost of doing so was not too high. Please, do not blame yourself._

"Boromir……" began Aragorn having regained his wits and looking more than a little cautious. Boromir turned and inclined his head to his King.

"Why……How……" spluttered Aragorn. While Aragorn could not be classed as a man of many words, it was rare for him to be this incoherent. Fortunately Boromir seemed to understand what the elder man was trying to ask.

_Your sister is right,_ he said. _I broke the oath that I swore, both to you and to my mother. It is only right that I am to be numbered with the oath-breakers of old._

"But you died with honour!" protested Aragorn. Boromir smile saddened a little.

_As did many of those who surround us, yet because of a single misguided action, they have been denied their rest,_ he said.

"How will you find yours?" asked Dídauar. "You cannot linger forever."

_Honestly? I haven't thought about that,_ said Boromir.

"Swear me another oath," said Dídauar suddenly. Boromir cocked his head. "Swear to me that you will leave for the Eternal Halls after you have fought this battle. Estel is right, you died with honour. The others will be freed, promise me that you will allow your soul to be released in the same manner."

_And what of my other oaths?_ asked Boromir.

"You were released from your oath to the Fellowship at Parth Galen," said Aragorn.

_And to my mother?_ demanded Boromir.

"Trust us to continue from where you finished," said Dídauar. "She knows that you have done your best. She would not wish you to suffer."

_Watching Faramir would not be a chore,_ muttered Boromir. _But a welcome gift._

"That would cause you pain. Remember him as you saw him last and swear to me that you will allow yourself to find peace when the others are released," said Dídauar, practically begging Boromir to say yes. Boromir considered the former Guard Captain for a few moments before nodding.

_Once my task is done,_ he said, saluting the twins and bowing his head in servitude. He seemed to melt back into the crowd of ghosts that surrounded them.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

_I am so sorry about the lateness of this chapter. Real life got in the way entirely over the past few weeks and I didn't have the chance to sit and write sufficiently to get the creative juices flowing. This chapter still doesn't flow the way I wanted it to. Hopefully things should become easier in the next couple of weeks. _

_Thank you for your patience_

_KC_


	18. Welcome To My Parlour

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

Movie and book canon is being twisted together in this chapter. The book Dead were released at Pelargir. In this they will be released at Osgiliath. They will not go tearing across the Pelennor, nor will they run rampage through Minas Tirith. My opinion that is a little dangerous since the Dead (at least my Dead Army) were not that discriminatory as to who/what they killed.

**Chapter Eighteen- Welcome To My Parlour**

The men were failing, exhaustion and fear warring in them all and it was only the willpower and determination of their leaders that kept them going. By sunset even Dídauar, the Sons of Elrond and Legolas were beginning to toil but rode on without complaint for as long as Aragorn and Roheryn had strength, so would they.

The bundle that Arwen had bid Dídauar deliver to the Chieftain had been unfurled as the company left Erech. The black, designless banner streamed out behind them as Halbarad rode as standard bearer, setting fear into the hearts of those they passed and many fled at the sight of the ghost army.

No dawn arrived as the Dúnedain passed through Lebennin, crossing each of the five rivers and pressing closer to Pelargir. By the time they caught sight of the Corsair ships, it was undeniable that Sauron was moving to strike Gondor from every angle and with every warrior he had, so sure of victory was the Dark Lord. However, the Corsair mercenaries may have been brave enough to bargain with the servants of Sauron but they fled at the sight of the Dead Army which was heralded by a black standard.

An army of infantry were sent forward to Minas Tirith, 4000 strong, the men of the south having rallied to the same banner that had instilled fear into so many. Now, the Dead and the Dúnedain directed the Corsair ships up river, the slaves of the mercenaries having also chosen to follow Aragorn over the chance of freedom.

_TTEOARTTEOAR  
_

Legolas gasped and reached for the nearest solid object – the ships balustrade – as the sound of a gull reached his ears. He stood staring down the Anduin, in the direction of the Sea. Aragorn approached his friend and noticing his tense stance cocked his head in question.

"What is it you see?" he asked. Legolas didn't answer but continued to stare down river. Aragorn turned his head in the same direction but naturally saw nothing other than the ships that were bearing the Dead to Gondor.

"Legolas?" he tried again and then noticed that the Elf was clinging to the balustrade for what seemed like dear life.

"The Sea," whispered Legolas, looking wide-eyed yet unseeingly before him. "Now I know what the Lady meant when she warned _Beware of the Sea._"

"You are speaking in riddles my friend," said Aragorn, trying to remove Legolas' hands from the wooden barrier before him. Legolas' grip was vice like however and he continued to stare forward unblinkingly.

"She is calling to me," murmured Legolas. "She is promising peace, if only I should heed her."

"Legolas!" barked Aragorn, taking hold of Legolas' upper arms and just refraining himself from shaking the Mirkwood archer. Legolas blinked and looked at Aragorn in surprise.

"I……" he began. Aragorn smiled gently. He was versed in Elven lore well enough to realise what had happened to Legolas. His reaction to the sea-gull's cry and the decidedly salty scent to the air, combined with the words Gandalf had spoken in Fangorn, meant only one conclusion could be drawn.

"The Sea calls to you," said Aragorn. "Do you wish to heed?"

"I do," murmured Legolas, dipping his head. Aragorn was about to tell him to sail when he continued. "But I have a task to do first."

"Freely chosen?" asked Aragorn. He didn't want, or need, another following him because of some secretly sworn oath.

"Freely chosen," replied Legolas with a smile. "Now go and rescue Dídauar. Your kin are bickering again."

Aragorn glanced up to find Tarcil and Arahael practically at each others throats again and he groaned.

"I should have tied Halbarad to a pillar at Dunharrow," he muttered. Legolas chuckled, earning him a disparaging glare from Aragorn as said Man stalked towards the twins. He grabbed Tarcil – the nearest twin – and kept walking, forcing the younger man to either walk with him or be pulled to the floor.

"I will order you to stay on the ship when we reach Osgiliath if you do not _grow up_!" barked the Chieftain. "War, Tarcil. That is what we head towards. Not a pleasure visit with our southern kin!"

"You do not have to tell me that," snapped back Tarcil. "But maybe you should tell Arahael. He is the one causing fights and creating divides by blaming Shadow for our Father being here."

"And you aren't?" questioned Aragorn, folding his arms.

"The future is not craved in stone but written in sand. It can still be changed," replied Tarcil.

"But not for the better if you and Arahael do not stop fighting with each other!" exclaimed Aragorn. "Kalya is already stressed, she does not need the extra pressure of watching you two fight like stags in spring!"

"He doesn't trust her!" exclaimed Tarcil. "After everything that has happened, he still doesn't trust her!"

"How long has he known?" asked Aragorn. "I understand that it was after she first Saw Boromir and Théodred fall that he was told. He hasn't exactly seen the positive aspect of Kalya being a Seer. Both of them died, remember? Can you really blame him for being hostile to the idea of your Father riding to battle with a death omen hanging over his head?"

"I should never have told him," muttered Tarcil, hanging his head. "If I had kept quiet, none of this would be happening!"

"Or it could be worse," said Aragorn. "At least this way Arahael is not in the dark. Going into battle angry is one thing, going to battle betrayed is another matter entirely."

"It is not making that much difference at the moment," muttered Tarcil, nodding towards Arahael who was now moving to sit with Culas and Nemír, Dídauar gazing after him, pain obvious in her eyes. "Only it is not Arahael who is betrayed."

Aragorn sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "Go to your father," he said before turning and moving to Dídauar's side.

_TTEOARTTEOAR _

_You are in pain_ said Boromir as he appeared beside Dídauar. A small contingent of ghosts had joined the Dúnedain on the lead ship, notably the King of the Dead and Boromir. Dídauar gave a start as the spirit appeared.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, once she realised who it was.

_Your eyes for one. Your stance for another. And I am dead not deaf,_ replied Boromir.

"Family problems," said Dídauar with a dismissive air.

_I gathered as much. What is the little one's problem?_ answered Boromir.

"His father is riding _to_ war but will not ride back," said Dídauar. "And Arahael is blaming me."

_Why?_

"Have you ever heard the phrase, curiosity killed the cat?" asked Dídauar a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Boromir grinned like an imp.

_I'm already dead,_ he said _Besides, satisfaction brought it back. Why does your kinsman blame you?_

"For the same reason Denethor and Faramir will have ever right to exile me from Gondor should we actually reach there," replied Dídauar.

_Ah,_ was Boromir's initial response. _I take it his Father is ignoring advice just as I did?_

"Just as Arahael is my little one, I am Halbarad's," replied Dídauar.

_Family,_ smiled Boromir. _Biggest cause of problems since the Eye itself and yet we would be completely lost without them._

"Indeed we would," replied Dídauar as Aragorn appeared at her side. "Estel, I'm fine. Arahael and I just need to find some common ground. Do we have a stowaway? I'm sure I can smell warm apple cinnamon."

Aragorn swore and pulled Dídauar to the floor just as the younger twin blacked out and arched her back, releasing a muffled whimper. Boromir simply stared at her.

_She gets them too?_ he asked of Aragorn who was currently using his thighs as a cushion for Dídauar's head.

"Too?" he repeated unfastening his cloak and balling it up. "Halbarad!"

_It is a trait that has run through my family for generations,_ replied Boromir. _Mostly dreams though rather than fits. Father of course had to be different and had both waking and sleeping visions. Always complained of smelling pine and cedar before collapsing._

"He did?" exclaimed Aragorn, forcing the cloak beneath Dídauar's head. "How did he keep that one a secret from me?"

_He is well practiced at hiding it from those he did not wish to know_, replied Boromir. _As is Faerlain obviously._

"Obviously," said Halbarad as he landed on his knees. "How long?"

"Less than a minute," replied Aragorn as Dídauar jerked violently enough to kick against the balustrade. "Easy little one. It will be over soon. Just relax and let it wash over you."

Dídauar once more kicked out, cried out in pain and arched for a third time before going completely slack in Aragorn's arms. Aragorn, having not witnessed her having a vision for well over five years, glanced at Halbarad for help. Seeing that Halbarad was not perturbed by Dídauar's reaction, Aragorn forced himself to calm down. His own panic was not going to help Dídauar recover and the last thing their people needed was an incapacitated leader.

"Shadow?" asked Halbarad, taken one of her hands. "What did you See?"

"The same as last time," replied Dídauar. Halbarad looked relieved which completely confused Aragorn.

"If she Sees faces they are most likely lost. Metaphors means that the future is still a little hazy and can be changed," explained Halbarad as he helped Dídauar sit up against the side of the ship.

"The 'metaphors' are becoming more detailed," murmured Dídauar. Aragorn and Halbarad looked at her sharply.

"How so?" asked Halbarad.

"The falling tower was pierced by arrows. The falling figure was dressed in green," replied Dídauar.

"And the White Tree?" asked Aragorn. Dídauar shook her head.

"Still surrounded by flames," she said.

"Faramir fights on then," said Aragorn.

"For the moment," replied Dídauar. Boromir's ghost exhaled in relief before melding back into the Dead contingent. "Halbarad, I beg you. Stay close to Arahael when we reach the battle."

"I thought I was the one in danger?" said Halbarad sounding hostile.

"You are," sighed Dídauar, resting her head against the ship's keel. "But so is Arahael because of his emotional turmoil. He is like a uncontrolled battering ram, at least if he has to concentrate on you, he will not be as volatile in battle."

"I will stay close," promised Halbarad, gripping Dídauar's shoulder before turning to see whether any explanation was needed as to why Dídauar collapsed. Aragorn however did not budge.

"Estel?"

"When was the last time you slept?" asked Aragorn. Dídauar stared at him.

"Your pardon?"

"You heard me," replied Aragorn. "The men at least took some rest at Erech. You have not slept since Dunharrow!"

"If you know the answers, why bother asking the questions?" asked Dídauar, a small smile forming as she pulled herself up. "How long till we reach Osgiliath?"

"Another day at least, unless this wind picks up and takes some of the pressure off the rowers," replied Aragorn, quickly stabilising Dídauar as her knees questioned the decision for her to stand. "Plenty of time for you to get some rest!"

"That is not a suggestion is it?" said Dídauar. Aragorn shook his head and nudged her in the direction of the main cabin.

"I will wake you before we pass the mountains," he said. Dídauar nodded and using the ship's side as support, made her way to the cabin. Aragorn sought Elrohir out in the crowd and sent him after her, before going to find Tarcil and Arahael. He would damned if he didn't get the twins speaking civilly again before Osgiliath. As he stalked across the deck, the wind picked up and the sails billowed out. Finally, luck was catching up with them.

_TTEOARTTEOAR _

By the time they reached the dock in Osgiliath, the battle of Pelennor was in full swing. Mûmakil corpses, Men and Orcs littered the ground and blood stained the earth where they lay. The sky above them was black and fellbeasts, commanded by the Nazgûl swooped down on the warriors of the West. The only people on the field who seemed delighted to see the ships of the Corsair arrive in Osgiliath were the Orcs, if their snarling and shouting was anything to go by.

"Finally!" shouted one of the berserkers as he strode towards the ship. "Well let's be having you. You have a job to do!"

"Indeed we do," said Aragorn as he jumped the side, Dídauar and Halbarad quickly joining him on the ground. The Orc berserker smirked.

"More spoils," he said, his companions snarling in delight at the prospect of Man-flesh.

"I'm afraid not," said Halbarad as an arrow flew over his head, fired by Arahael, and landed in the skull of the Orc behind the berserker. That opened the flood gates and the Orcs charged forward, weapons raised. The Dúnedain ducked and the ghosts charged forward, running through the mass of Orcs and latterly Osgiliath, decimating the offending warriors of Sauron, be the Man or Orc. Returning to the harbour, the twins saluted the King of the Dead who returned it.

"Your oath is fulfilled," called Aragorn. With a relieved sigh, the ghosts faded one by one, Boromir being the last to do so.

"Trust us," said Dídauar, seeing the reluctance in the young warrior's eyes. Boromir nodded, saluted once more and allowed his soul to be reclaimed.

Behind the twins, the Standard of Arwen was raised once again, only this time it was not blank. Instead images of the White Tree, the Seven Stars of the Elves and the Crown of Elendil shone out from the black material, each glittering in the sunlight that was once again creeping through the clouds. A battle cry went up from the Dúnedain and they charged forward.


	19. Even The Mightiest Warrior

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

**HIGH LEVEL OF ANGST**

**MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH**

**Semi-graphic description of battle injuries**

**Chapter Nineteen -  
Even The Mightiest Warrior Must Have A Final Hour**

The Fields of Pelennor were a mass of dead bodies, Gondorian, Dúnedain, Rohirrim, Orc, Mûmakil, Haradrim and Easterling. Blood, black and red mingled together, stained the once green fields with the unmistakable mark of death. Those who were able now searched the bodies for the living and injured, though few were found and each passing hour resulting in a darker cloud of depression.

Éowyn and Théoden were among the first to be removed, their people having swarmed around the moment their King fell. They had been taken to the City where they would undoubtedly be laying in state. Éomer refused to surrender to his grief just yet and helped search for survivors. Merry had been found, wandering in daze, by Pippin and the youngest Hobbit had helped his cousin to the Houses of Healing, desperately clinging to the hope that Merry had not fought his last battle. Six of the Dúnedain were yet unaccounted for, including Halbarad and his sons. Every one of the Dúnedain had suffered some form of injury but so tight were the bonds between the forgotten warriors of the north that no amount of persuasion would see them enter the Houses of Healing until the last of their number was found.

Beleg and Herion were the first to be found, the former struck in the chest with an Orc's flailing mace, smashing his ribs and impaling his heart and lung, killing him almost instantly. The latter had been skewered in the stomach with a Dirk by an Easterling. Once fallen, he had been left to slowly bleed to death while the battle continued to rage around him. Pethurin was found next, a spear pinning him to the ground through his right shoulder. He might have survived had it not been for the arrows, both friendly and enemy, that had either glanced his skin and landed in the ground or had embedded themselves in his skin. His death had also been slow and painful as blood loss and poison worked together to drive his soul to the Eternal Halls. Two further Dúnedain were found dead before Fate decided to kick the Dúnedain while they were down.

Halbarad was found sprawled spread-eagled on his back, his pewter eyes wide in surprise while his skin was punctured by numerous arrows. Beside him lay Arahael, tucked up as though to protect something and with a look of pain across his features. Aragorn choked at the sight and a few tears escaped his cobalt-blue eyes.

"Halbarad?" he whispered, kneeling beside the body and running a shaking hand over the weather stained features, ignoring the fact that his shoulder was throbbing mercilessly from the arrow bolt that had been lodged there. Halbarad offered no response and the rapid cooling of his skin made it all too obvious that he was dead, just as Dídauar had foreseen. Aragorn bit back a second sob and closed Halbarad's eyes.

"Farewell my cousin. May you find rest in the Eternal Halls," he murmured. Glancing around, he caught sight of the well used sword favoured by Halbarad. Taking hold of the hilt, he pressed it into Halbarad's hand and rested the arm across his chest.

"Farewell," he murmured again pressing a kiss to Halbarad's forehead before moving to tend Arahael.

Rolling him flat on to his back, Aragorn inhaled sharply and fought down the urge to throw up. A large slash reached across Arahael's torso, beginning with a deep incision at his abdomen and ending a fraction of an inch below his heart. Thankfully the rib-cage had done its job and protected a majority of the organs but blood stained the leather armour and began to flow anew when Aragorn moved the younger man.

"Please, Valar, let him be spared," he whispered, running a shaking hand to Arahael's throat, testing for a heartbeat. "Please!"

Arahael's breath was shallow and rattled in his throat as tried to open his eyes. "Arahael please," whispered Aragorn, grasping Arahael's hand. Arahael turned his head in the direction of Aragorn's voice and released a shuddering breath which sprayed Aragorn's arms with a fine mist of bloody saliva.

"Arahael!" commanded Aragorn, gripping the hand in his tighter. Arahael's eyes fluttered open and he licked his lips before trying to speak.

"Sorry," he said hoarsely. Aragorn blinked.

"What for?" he asked.

"Fath……" began Arahael before screwing his face up in pain as pressure was applied to his chest. Culas has arrived and grabbed the nearest piece of cloth, balled it up and pressed it to the wound on his friend's chest.

"Tried to save……Haradrim got……sorry……should be me……" breathed Arahael through the pain and the increasing difficulty he had in fighting the pull of the Eternal Halls.

"Never say that!" hissed Aragorn. "Never wish to take the place of the dead!"

"Sorry," repeated Arahael, his eyes falling shut once more and his head lolling to one side.

"Oh no you don't," growled Culas, increasing the pressure on Arahael's wound. "Strider go. Find Shadow before she finds _us_!"

"Who is left to find?" asked Aragorn.

"Tarcil," replied Culas. Aragorn nodded before heading in the direction of the river bank where a couple of the Dúnedain could be seen hunting.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

Tarcil was found wandering aimlessly about the Pelennor, fortunately physically unharmed, save for a multitude of shallow wounds that would heal on their own once the crusted dust and blood was rinsed away. His mental and emotional state was another matter entirely. No one knew that he had watched both his twin and father go down. His grief and anger found a very rapid outlet as during the battle he lashed out at anything that moved. Once the battle was over, he calmed down and _shut_ down. He wouldn't speak, barely responded to anything anyone else said and seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings. Eventually it had taken Nemír kicking his legs out from beneath him that got him to sit down so that he could examine the extent of Tarcil's physically injuries.

Dídauar sat behind him, hugging him tightly and just providing her physical presence, waiting for Tarcil to decide when he was ready to speak. She nodded gratefully to Nemír once he had finished wiping the grime from around most of Tarcil's wounds.

"Tell the others he is safe," she said and Nemír stood. The younger man nodded and waved Aragorn over, making his way to meet him half way. Dídauar however failed to recognise the presence of her twin. She coaxed Tarcil into resting his head back against her shoulder and swept his hair from in front of his eyes, kissing the bared skin of his forehead.

"Speak to me little one," she beseeched, increasing the grip of her other arm around his torso. Tarcil remained limp against her and only his smoky-grey eyes betrayed his pain. He licked his lips and made as if to speak but no sound came out, save a tortured whimper. Dídauar hushed him gently, wiping away the tears began to form and run unheeded down Tarcil's cheeks. A shadow fell across them and Dídauar glanced up, her gaze meeting with that of her brother. It was not a joyous glint that shone in his eyes but one of pain, the glaze intensifying when he glanced at Tarcil.

'No,' she whispered. Aragorn dropped to his knees and continued to watch her with pain filled eyes. Dídauar choked before letting out a howl, sounding exactly like the wolf many claimed coloured her personality. Aragorn gathered both her and Tarcil into his arms and held them, Tarcil continuing to gaze unseeingly at what his eyes rested on while Dídauar's free arm wrapped itself round Aragorn's neck, the younger of the leader twins biting down on the leather shoulder of Aragorn's armour in an effort to silence her cries. Aragorn too used the crook of his twin's neck to quieten his grief.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

How long the three cousins sat huddled together in the shadow of Minas Tirith, no one was entirely sure but none dared approach the grieving leaders, each one being as potentially vicious as a wounded animal when emotionally distraught. Eventually, as dusk settled on the battlefield, bringing with it a harsh wind, Legolas made his way cautiously over to the three.

"Aragorn?" he asked, crouching beside the eldest of the trio and resting a hand on his shoulder. "Will you not come beside a fire?"

Aragorn turned bleary eyes to his Elven friend, the Mirkwood archer gasping in shock at the decrepit state of the future King of Men.

"What of the others?" he asked, not releasing either of his kin.

"The dead have been moved to the Citadel, where they rest with honour along side the fallen Lords of Gondor and Rohan. The wounded are housed within the Healing Houses, your kin who are able and Elladan and Elrohir lending what aid they can to the injured," reported Legolas. "The rest have set up a camp just a few yards away."

"What of the City?" continued Aragorn.

"The Prince of Dol Amroth is temporary Steward, Denethor having fallen and Faramir ensconced within the Houses," replied Legolas and Aragorn increased his grip around Dídauar's shoulders as he felt the leather about his shoulder tighten once more in her grip.

"Take Tarcil," ordered Aragorn, releasing the new Commander of the Dúnedain. "Take him to Arahael and Halbarad so that he maybe given the chance to say farewell."

"The dead can wait," said Legolas as he moved to catch Tarcil before lifting him to his feet as though he was a small child.

"Arahael yet lives," he said, tipping the Dúnadan's head back and smiled gently. Tarcil blinked at the Elf and choked before catching him about the shoulders. Legolas held him briefly before coaxing him in the direction of the Main Gate. After watching them go, Aragorn turned his attention to Dídauar, persuading her to look up and him.

'Tell me,' he said simply. Dídauar tried to duck her head but Aragorn refused to allow it. 'Tell me.'

'I have joined the oath breakers,' she said. Aragorn blinked in surprise.

'Who did you swear an oath to?' he asked in amazement. To have Dídauar swear an oath to a _person_ was almost unheard of, Haldir and Elrond being the only ones who had managed to extract such a binding promise from the Dúnadan.

'Halbarad and Thengel,' she replied. 'Now Arahael is inches from death and Tarcil is ready to follow him. And I promised Thengel that his son would live to see the days of the King.'

'Why would you swear that to a _Rohirric_ King?' asked Aragorn, incredulously.

'You know what Ecthelion was like and Thengel was worried the Denethor would follow in his father's footsteps, severing the ties between Rohan and Gondor completely. I promised that Théoden would live to see the unity between Rohan and Gondor restored to the glory of the days Eorl,' explained Dídauar.

'But the unity _was_ restored,' protested Aragorn. 'Théoden answered the summons. Rohirrim and Gondorians fought and died together.'

'Because Mithrandir manipulated,' replied Dídauar. 'Not because the Steward genuinely wanted aid. And a King is yet to sit on the Throne of Gondor.'

'You have broken no oath,' murmured Aragorn, pressing a kiss to Dídauar's forehead. 'The glory and honour on Rohan was never in question and unity has been restored. Do not torture yourself over the fact I have yet to enter Minas Tirith again, the King has returned to Gondor. Théoden saw that and Thengel will have done so as well. And Halbarad will not hold you to account either. He knew the dangers that his sons rode towards and he did not forbid them doing so. You are no oath breaker, but a brave warrior and loving leader.'

Dídauar did not look convinced but didn't say anything. She settled between her brother's legs and gazed up at the stars, quickly pinpointing Haldir's star and that of Eärendil. Neither shone particularly strongly in the dusky sky but both were still present which was enough to offer hope, however thin a shard.

'Receive your kin, Eärendil. Show them the way to the peace they have earned,' whispered Dídauar. Eärendil's star seemed to glow brighter momentarily, causing a faint smile to grace Dídauar's face. The Elf-mariner had heard and would do as he was bid.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

That night, the wounds that Dídauar had received during the battle, and subsequently ignored in light of her cousin's pain, made their presence known with particular vengeance. The cuts to her skin were shallow and would have started to heal on their own, had they not been made by Haradrim and Easterling blades that were laced with the slow acting venom of the desert scorpion. Dídauar had also suffered internal trauma after a hand-to-hand battle she had engaged in with a Haradrim who had taken exception to inflicting damage to her torso. As quietly as her Dúnedain name sake suggested, Dídauar collapsed in the middle of the campsite, catching her shoulder on a loose weapon that had been overlooked in the clearing of the site before pitching. The Orc blade delved deep into the gap between her collar bone and rib, narrowly missing her lung and there she lay, unconscious, until Culas and Nemír reappeared, sent by Gandalf to beseech Aragorn's presence in the Houses of Healing and to find rest themselves.

"No I am not entering the City," barked Aragorn as he stormed out of his tent. "Gandalf knows my reasons as to why. I cannot believe he would stoop so low as to use emotional blackmail to have me bend to his will. I am not……" Aragorn tapered off as he caught his footing and stumbled slightly. Cursing, he turned to see exactly what he had tripped over. He was on his knees a second later.

'Kalya?' he asked, pulling Dídauar on to her back. She remained completely limp, her head lolling to one side as Aragorn pulled her up into his arms.

'Kalya, no echui,' he said, shaking her gently. Dídauar didn't respond. _(wake up)_

'No!' snarled Aragorn, clutching his sister to him. 'You will not have her! Not now. She survived the battle, you will _not_ demand her soul now.'

"Strider what……" began Nemír, only to falter as he took in the situation. "Give her to me."

Aragorn looked quite prepared to protest but the determination that shone from Nemír's eyes caused the words to die in his throat. Nemír quickly assessed the damage to Dídauar's body before yelling for Culas.

"Find Lord Elrohir," he barked. Culas took a quick assessment of the situation he was obviously meant to relate to the Elven Lord and nodded before shooting off back to the Houses of Healing.

"Where are you taking her?" asked Aragorn, sounding anything but the returning King.

"To the Houses. There is little I can do for her here," replied Nemír as he stood, hoisting Dídauar into his arms. He whistled for his horse and settled Dídauar on its back, there being no way that he was going to be able to carry her up six levels of the City and still be of use once he actually reached the establishment. Swinging on to his horse's back, he gave Aragorn a look of mingled sorrow and determination. Aragorn met the gaze but remained quiet, not even bothering to stand as Nemír kicked the animal into trot.

'Am man theled?' the uncrowned-King whispered once he was alone, clutching a hand over his heart as his soul fought the loss of its constant companion from before they saw the light of day. Sobs beginning to shake his frame, the salty-tears mingling with blood on his face and clothing as he turned his gaze skyward, begging Námo not to accept the spirit of his twin that day. _(For what purpose (Why))_


	20. The Hands A Ranger

**Chapter Twenty - The Hands A Ranger**

The Houses of Healing were in chaos, with physicians and medicine women running back and forth between patients and each other. Faramir, the now Steward of Gondor, lay ravaged by fever that no amount of herbs and ice compresses could break. Éowyn, Shield-maiden of Rohan, was rapidly succumbing to the Black Breath and whatever heat Faramir gained, she lost. Éomer sat beside her, trying his best not to cave to his emotions. The potential loss of his little sister, combined with the loss of Théoden, just weeks after he had received the news that his beloved cousin had been slain, and mere days after he watched Háma ruthlessly cut down and his corpse despoiled by the foul Uruk-Hai of Saruman, only added to his distress. Merry occupied yet another bed, his skin taking on an ash-grey colour as he too began to succumb to the poison of Mordor. Pippin danced between Faramir and Merry, wearing a sombre look that was glaringly out of place on the raven-Hobbit's face.

Dídauar was placed in a bed beside Arahael, there simply not being enough space for her to be afforded a separate room. Nemír ditching his weapons in a corner and stripped off his leather armour until he was clothed in a linen shirt and leggings before grabbing a copper basin, jug of water and bundle of cloths.

"Right, what do we have here?" demanded an elderly physician as he came bustling into the room and seeming completely unfazed to have _two_ female warriors in his care, both injured on the front line rather than as collateral damage. Nemír did not stop as he addressed the man.

"Chest wound caused by an Orc blade," he said, carefully cutting the stitches of Dídauar's armour before cautiously peeling it away.

"Ah yes," said the physician bending forward to examine the gouge in Dídauar's shoulder. "I will have a medicine woman treat her."

"They can't be spared," replied Nemír as he rung out the cloth and wiped away the sweat and grime from the wound site. "I have sent for the Lord Elrohir."

"He cannot be spared either!" protested the physician.

"Trust me. When he learns his foster-sister is here, he will come," replied Nemír. "And my nephew is here as well. We will tend her."

"It is not done in Gondor that the women are treated by men!"

"We are not Gondorian," stated Nemír with what could easily be described as pride, as he dissolved a packet of salt into the heated water and seeped another cloth. "Shadow I'm sorry, this is going to hurt."

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

Aragorn sat huddled beside a slowly dying fire, running the pad of his thumb over the smooth surface of the Star of the Dúnedain and staring unseeingly into the flames. Others had tried to persuade him to enter the City, including Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. He had refused them all, but had at least allowed someone to treat the arrow wound to his back. It wasn't nearly as bad as first feared, the bone of his shoulder blade protecting all but the covering muscle sheet and was easily treated. Now Aragorn sat lost in his memories of days gone by. He recalled each of Halbarad's tri-annual visits to Imladris during his childhood, the final visit being to return both Lord and Lady to their rightful places within their clan. He remembered the day that Halbarad proudly presented the twins to their people, before pinning the symbol of their heritage to Aragorn's cloak and stringing a token about Dídauar's neck. With a weak smile, Aragorn recalled the love and devotion that shone from his cousin's pewter eyes as he declared his undying loyalty to the twins, painfully rehearing the line _If by my life or death I can protect you, I will_. He remembered Halbarad proudly presenting his own twins the pair long after anyone, including Halbarad himself, had thought he would become a father. He also remembered the vow that he and Dídauar had made; that they would watch over the pair with the same love and devotion that Halbarad had shown them. Despite what he had said to Dídauar, Aragorn couldn't help but agree that they too numbered among the oath breakers, both twins now being ensconced within the Houses of Healing, the younger near death, the other emotional and mental collapse.

"What are you doing sitting out here?" demanded Gandalf as he arrived in the camp. "The people within the Walls need your help, especially those within the Houses of Healing!"

"The healers and physicians know their trade better than I do," replied Aragorn, not raising his gaze to meet that of the Istari. "I will be more of a hindrance than a help."

"The healers have tried," blustered Gandalf. "But not even Elladan and Elrohir know how to help those who are deepest hurt."

"What of Arahael?" asked Aragorn, gripping the Star.

"Is clinging to life. But he has something to fight for. The others are fighting despair as well as their physical injuries."

"Despair?" echoed Aragorn. "Why?"

"Faramir has lost what remained of his family, the Lady Éowyn also believes so, Merry is sure that his friends have died and your _sister_ is preparing to give up," said Gandalf. Aragorn's head jerked up.

"What?"

"She is exhausted, grieving and fighting the venom of a desert scorpion. All are a poison to her soul and are enough to pull her under unless she is given a strong enough reason to fight through it. The phrase 'all is not lost' is not the answer since she believes it is. Not even Elrohir can get a reaction from her."

Aragorn choked as his emotions rose very quickly to the surface once more. Elrohir had _always_ managed to get some form of reaction from Dídauar, even when everyone else had failed. Their bond had been so close that Aragorn had spent at least two years of his youth jealous of his foster-brother because of it. Now it let the uncrowned King realise exactly how desperate their situation was, not only for himself but for the Dúnedain and their family back in Imladris and Lothlórien.

"Only love can call her back from the darkness. Can call them _all_ back from the edge," continued Gandalf.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Aragorn in a choked and helpless whisper, the points of the star digging into his hand as he increased the grip. "I have no right to enter the lowest level of Minas Tirith, let alone the Houses of Healing!"

"You are King, that alone gives you that right," said Gandalf. Aragorn shook his head.

"That _negates_ my right," said Aragorn. "I know what you would say Gandalf. That now is the time that Isildur's heir should enter the City of his forefather's and unite the people. But how does a stranger inspire hope into a bereft people?"

Gandalf decided against going into a dramatic speech and stopped looking for the King of Men. Instead he appealed to the grieving friend and brother who desperately needed to be told that he could do something about the situation.

"Forget the people," he said, causing Aragorn to stare at him with wide-eyes. "You can concern yourself with them tomorrow. For now, think of your sister. Think of Tarcil and Arahael, of Merry. Éowyn. Faramir. They need your help _now_ and you have the power to draw them away from the darkness."

"I will go," murmured Aragorn. "But for their sakes alone. Afterwards, I will return here and remain _outside_ the walls until this battle is over, lost or won." Gandalf nodded and helped his younger companion to his feet, reigning in the desire to have him claim the Kingship then and there.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

Aragorn spent most of night in the Houses of Healing, refusing to claim any title but that of Ranger Captain of the North, though one of the elderly medicine women twittered to anyone and everyone – regardless of whether they were listening or not – that the King had returned. He tended to each of those in dire need, paying particular attention to Faramir, Éowyn and Merry, all of whom were succumbing to the Black Breath. By the time the Moon was halfway through her journey across the sky, a faint smell of Athelas permeate the air of the Houses, giving the healers the strength to carry on to just one more patient and the casualties themselves seemed to calm so that moans and cries of pain no longer rent the air.

Finally, around the second hour after midnight, Aragorn knelt at the bedsides of his kin. Their physical wounds had been well tended, Nemír, Culas and Elrohir plying their skill as only they knew how, and Arahael was now in a deep, drug/pain induced sleep while Dídauar was unconscious, the reason why remaining elusive. Tarcil however refused to be sedated, however mildly. He sat beside Arahael, one of the younger man's hands grasped tightly between his. While none of the Dúnedain were particularly pious, the names of the Valar and Ilúvatar being raised in curse as often as they were in praise and blessing, Tarcil now found himself praying to any and all of the Gods who governed the fate of their world, begging them to return Arahael and protect Dídauar.

"Who will pray for you?" asked Aragorn, gently cupping Tarcil's cheek and wiping the tears away with his thumb. "Arahael and Kalya are not strong enough to fight for themselves and you. If you succumb, they will fail and your words and tears will have been in vain."

Tarcil looked helplessly at his Chief. "I don't want to lose them," he whispered.

"You won't lose them," replied Aragorn, trying to convince himself as well as his younger Commander. "Sleep beside Arahael if you must but please, I beg you, take some rest."

"Save them," begged Tarcil as he allowed Aragorn to force him into laying down.

"That is why I am here," replied Aragorn as he covered Tarcil with a blanket and kissed his temple before turning his attention to Arahael and his twin.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

Culas leant against one of the walls of the Houses and, closing his eyes, gently slid to the floor. He had been running on adrenaline since the end of the battle as he dashed between kin and then patients but finally exhaustion had caught up with him. He barely reacted when Nemír sat beside him, pulling him too.

"How are you doing?" asked the elder man. Culas turned his head up to face his uncle and Nemír cooed in sympathy at the pain that shone in the youth's eyes. Culas' hand migrated to the ties of Nemír's tunic and tangled with the strings.

"I still hear their voices," murmured the youth. "Begging me to stop the pain. Pleading with me to help them. I held……he was only a child……wasn't even my age and he'd been sent out. There was an arrow……it stuck in his back……went straight through, pierced his lung, ripped his heart……I tried, tried so hard but he went quiet……he screamed for so long and then……there was nothing, he just went quiet……too quiet."

"Shush," murmured Nemír increasing his grip. "You can't save everyone, and at least he had someone to hold his hand as he died. There are some who didn't even have that."

"How are Arahael and Shadow?" asked Culas in a small voice as he began to choke up.

"Holding on," replied Nemír. "They are fighting."

Culas choked again and Nemír pulled him, if possible, closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, cupping his cheek and holding Culas' head to his shoulder, gently rocked the younger man as sobs of grief and shock overcame him.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

'You should have stayed in the North,' whispered Aragorn, switching to Sindarin as he finally allowed himself to devote his whole attention to his twin for the first time in eleven years. Sweeping Dídauar's fringe from her forehead, he leant forward and kissed the bared skin before moving to examine the wounds that marred her body. The puncture to her chest, which was deep and had narrowly missed nicking the top of her lung, had been cleaned, cauterised and sewn closed, before her arm had been carefully secured within a sling. The numerous nicks and slashes had been cleaned and if needed sewn. Her chest was beginning to show evidence of the beating she had taken from the Haradrim, cracked ribs looking the most likely damage. They wouldn't find out the extent of the damage to her organs until she was awake and could physically tell them . After examining her, Aragorn's confusion and terror rose. Dídauar was sturdy and should be more than capable of coping with her injuries, be they poisoned or not.

'What is wrong with you, little one?' asked Aragorn, taking a cold compress and pressing it to Dídauar's forehead, running the backs of his fingers gently over her cheek. Dídauar moaned in response and seemed to regain some level of consciousness.

'So much pain……' she whispered.

'I know little one,' replied Aragorn, delighted that he was getting the response which Elrohir had been denied. 'Let me take it away.'

'No…' murmured Dídauar. 'Let me go.'

Tarcil, who had not yet fallen asleep, inhaled sharply. The Dúnedain had lost enough warriors without one of their leaders heeding the call of the fallen as well.

'Kalya?' asked Aragorn, his voice catching.

'I have failed.'

'No Kalya, you have won,' reassured Aragorn, returning to caress Dídauar's forehead. 'The battle is won.'

'I failed,' said Dídauar with a whimper.

'No Kalya,' muttered Aragorn, continuing to gently trace her forehead. 'You achieved a great victory and now your King calls you home.'

'A King does not need an oath breaker,' said Dídauar before her head fell limp to one side.

'Dídauar, please. Come back!' Aragorn begged, the tears beginning to flow down his face. When signs of life began to flee Dídauar at an increased rate, Aragorn's last resolve not to breakdown left him. He collapsed his head onto Dídauar's chest and sobbed into the linen sheet that covered her feverish body, all the while gripping Dídauar's hand.

'You are no oath-breaker!' he pressed. 'And I would need you even if you were. Please come back. Please come back!' he whispered.


	21. Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

I'm taking liberties with Námo here. I tried working the scene with other people but without someone physically _speaking_ to Dídauar it wasn't working. Námo became the next choice and he was more than willing to fill the role.

**Chapter Twenty-One - Don't Go Where I Can't Follow**

The night following the Battle of Pelennor Fields was not filled with the joyous cheers of celebrating soldiers and civilians but was instead deathly quiet. No one seemed to be able to stir even a smile for they all knew someone who had been killed or severely wounded in the fighting. News had quickly spread that Denethor was dead and that his son lay in the Houses of Healing fighting for his life. Further news of the death of Théoden and Halbarad had also spread and soon, even the hardest of hearts was moved to sorrow by the thick cloud of grief and anguish that hung over the City and beyond its boundaries to the Dúnedain and Rohirric camps. The women and children who still remained on the first and second levels of the City had ventured out to the camps baring what food and clothing they could spare to the beleaguered warriors who were not their own. It wasn't much, but none complained and each gift was greatly accepted. Even the simple sight of the women and children was enough to raise a weak smile. This is what they had been fighting to protect and no loss was in vein if it meant even a single spark of innocence remained in the world. But, as noble as the deaths of their leaders may have been, it did not make them any easier to bare and when it became clear that Fate had not stopped tormenting the Dúnedain, their grief ran deeper.

Largely thanks to Ioreth, the medicine women who had twittered about the return of the King, news had filtered down the levels that Aragorn had managed to pull Faramir, Éowyn and Merry back from the brink. The Rohirrim were at first shocked that Éowyn was actually in Minas Tirith, but were more than relieved that she was safe. They were equally joyous that the young Hobbit esquire – who had managed to endear himself to some of the more battle hardened Rohirrim – was also found alive, even if he wasn't supposed to be there either. However, despite the joyful tidings, the news that Dídauar and Arahael were still clinging to life by the thinnest of threads and that Dídauar in particular was not responding to the calls of either her twin or Elven foster-brother, hit the Dúnedain hard. Matters were not helped when Nemír reappeared cradling Culas tightly to him, the elder man looking haggard and distressed. Already surrounded by grief and death, the Dúnedain could not help but think that the youngest of their party had also made his last journey.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

"Sauron has already won if the men continue to despair!" exclaimed Imrahil as he witnessed one depressed face after another and felt the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded the City press down on him.

"You would not allow your men to grieve for their fallen?" asked Elladan as he approached. Imrahil turned, a little startled at having audience to his personal musings.

"Grieving for comrades-in-arms I cannot prevent but some of these people look ready to give up! They will be no use if Sauron's troops attack again or if we decide to march towards Mordor," replied the Dol Amroth ruler recovering himself quickly.

"It is not simply comrades-in-arms that they grieve for," chided the Elf. "And their grief is best relieved through tears and acts of despair rather than forced into submission. I have seen what grief that is turned inwards can do to others; it turns to hate, slowly eats away like a canker and that is a far more deadly weapon to Sauron than any number of tears."

"I never thought I would see the day when an _Elf_ was explaining how to grieve for the dead!" said Imrahil, the oddity of such an occurrence causing him to smile slightly.

"Just because we have the gift of immortality does not mean we cannot die," said Elladan. "And while there is little Elven blood spilt on this day, I too grieve for fallen kin."

"The Dúnedain," realised Imrahil. "I am sorry, I was presumptuous and……" Elladan held up a hand to stem the flow of speech.

"It is doubtful that any will register the losses suffered by others, the deaths within their own numbers being foremost in their minds this night," said the Elf.

"How go things in the Houses?" asked Imrahil.

"The healers are finally managing to cope with what is demanded. Your nephew, along with the Lady Éowyn and the Halfling, are now safely on the road to recovery," replied Elladan.

"And your kin?" asked Imrahil gently, seeing that the Elf was somewhat reluctant to speak of either set of twins.

"Tarcil and Arahael have a long road ahead of them but they should make a full recovery given the right support. Estel and Kalya are another matter," replied Elladan with a sigh. "I fear if Kalya does not respond soon, Estel will slip into despair and we will lose them both."

"You speak as though from prior experience," said Imrahil.

"I do," said Elladan. "But the details of which are not mine to share. However, despite their differences and extended periods of separation within recent years, Estel and Kalya share a close bond that I fear not even death will break."

"Then let us hope that the Valar have taken their share of our people this day," said Imrahil. Elladan nodded, casting his eyes across the Fields before turning his gaze to the north-western sky.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

"_What_ is so urgent that I have to be dragged away from the side of a patient who is bleeding faster than we can patch them up?" demanded Elrohir as he marched into the room behind a terrified looking messenger boy. The child went straight to the side of Pippin and the Hobbit wrapped his arms around him. The boy being at least five foot tall and Pippin only three foot eight, the scene would have been comical but for the situation.

"Kalya," whispered Aragorn from his position on the floor. Elrohir's eyes flashed with a sudden pain and went to his knees beside Aragorn.

'Don't you _dare_ tell me she is dead!' hissed the Elf. Aragorn turned blurred eyes to the younger of his foster-brothers.

'She's giving up,' he said quietly. 'She woke briefly and asked me to let her go.'

'She woke up?' Elrohir echoed. Aragorn nodded.

'But she has stopped listening,' he murmured. 'Please Elrohir. Bring her back.'

'Don't you think I have tried!' snapped Elrohir.

'She heeded to me when we thought she was beyond hope. Maybe this time you can pull her from the darkness?' said Aragorn, and Elrohir found that he was unable to deny the hopeful glint that shone in his foster-brother's eye.

'I will try,' he said. 'But I bid you stay lest I fail.'

For the next half-an-hour Elrohir knelt by Dídauar's beside, begging with the human and beseeching with the Valar for her to remain and awaken. Around them, the medicine women and physicians suggested numerous infusions and foul smelling objects which had been "successful in rousing numerous unconscious patients". As Elladan calmly explained, Dídauar had done more than simply faint, but that didn't stop such remedies being suggested. Finally, Elrohir turned and placed Dídauar's hand back in Aragorn's.

'I have done all I can,' he said. 'It is the love of her twin that she needs now. Believe it or not, you and she are bound tighter than we will ever be.'

Aragorn looked distressed but accepted the Elf's decision. Gripping Dídauar's hand in his once more, Aragorn made himself comfortable on the bed and mindful of her injured shoulder, curled around Dídauar as though seeking to protect her from the rest of the world. Elrohir smiled gently, though most of the sentiment failed to reach his eyes and, kissing both twins lightly on the forehead, he left the pair in the hands of the Valar.

Aragorn tightened his grip about Dídauar and rested his forehead against her shoulder blade. He did not speak, words having long become redundant and simply let the Valar make the final decision.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

_It is not your time, child of Middle-Earth!_ whispered a voice, or was it a mixture of voices, in the darkness.

"It is," replied Dídauar. "My day of judgement has come."

_No! You are still needed!_ said the voices. _Your people still remain in darkness. They need you to help them through._

"They have other warriors," replied Dídauar as she sat down. "They still have their Chief."

_Not everything can be answered with the raising of a sword, _said a male voice that was more definable than any of the others._ Why don't you heed the voices of the dark?_ _This is not the Dídauar of Eriador that I have watched grow._

"Who are you?" demanded Dídauar, looking around for the speaker.

_I am the ruler of the Halls to which you demand entrance, _replied the voice and a deep brown haired being appeared before her. _Námo I am called by some. I ask again, why don't you heed the voices of the dark?_

"My time on Arda has come to an end," answered Dídauar.

_If that were the case we would not be having this conversation. You say there are others to help your people, who are they?_

"The twins," replied Dídauar, and an edge of pride entered her voice. "Tarcil and Arahael will lead them well and Estel is there to help them should they need it."

_Ah, I have heard much about the sons of Halbarad, but they are still young and not yet ready for such a burden. Tell me daughter of Arathorn, how will they fair without you there to help them?_

"They will find a way. They are not completely alone and I am just a single player on a _very_ large game board," replied Dídauar.

_Yet you hold the hearts of so many in your hands, _replied Námo. _Not least that of the Galadhrim. If you give up now, the March-warden of Lothlórien will be dead within the week. With his world falling apart at his feet, your twin will also be tempted by my halls and he will never regain the Throne of Gondor. With his fall, the rest of your people will truly become the forgotten wanderers of the north._

"NO!" yelled Dídauar standing up. "I am _one_ person. Yes I maybe a leader of the Dúnedain but of the last eighty-eight years, I have spent no more than twenty-five years serving them! I may call them my people but my treks across the world speak an entirely different story. I am called Faerlain and Sadorennor for a reason! It is not me that they need, it is Halbarad. _He_ is the one that has been there for them through everything. They need Tarondor, Beleg, Pethurin. Warriors that have been with them, fighting for them not running at every opportunity. Who bore their Star with pride rather than shying away from even _carrying_ the symbol of the very people they are supposed to lead!"

_Yet still they flock to your banner, _said Námo. _They readily pick up a weapon and fight for, and with, you and it is not just your people that I speak of. Light you are called, both in the language of old and that of the new. Yes, you are a single note in the song of your world but for many people, without you all that exists is a collection of notes._

"I am not that important," replied Dídauar sitting down once more. Námo crouched before her and tilted her head up so that their eyes met.

_You are _very_ important. To a _lot_ of people. Dúnedain, Gondorian, Rohirrim, Eldar. They are all desperately seeking hope this night. Return to them now and give them that._

"All I want is peace," whispered Dídauar. Námo smiled.

_That I can grant you,_ he said, pulling her back to her feet.

_TTEOARTTEOAR_

Dídauar blinked as she regained consciousness and gradually took in her surroundings as her vision cleared. There was still activity around her but mostly the staff of the Healing Houses were allowing their patients to sleep. The beds on all sides were filled by injured, yet peaceful, warriors and beside them was someone they knew, some sleeping, others holding a silent vigil. She had lost the use of one of her arms temporarily, though had seemed to have sprouted a second pair. Smiling, she rolled carefully on to her back – hissing as she jarred her shoulder – and ran the backs of her fingers over the tear stains on Aragorn's grime streaked face. Said Chieftain jerked at the touch and woke in an instant. Dídauar's smile widened as her brother regained his wits.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Kalya?" asked Aragorn in an equally quiet voice. Dídauar continued to smile and nodded. Aragorn released a laugh mingled sob and pulled Dídauar to him.

"You're alive!" he choked, burying his face in Dídauar's shoulder.

"I'm alive," replied Dídauar. Aragorn gave a relieved laugh and rolled onto his back, pulling Dídauar with him. Words were once again redundant, and the pain in Dídauar's shoulder was again ignored, as the twins nestled together and for the first time since before the Fellowship left Imladris, allowed their hearts to fully respond to the other's call.


	22. The Calm Between Two Storms

**Chapter Twenty-Two - Calm Between Two Storms**

A warm bundle negotiated itself into the small cove that Dídauar's tucked body created and whatever it was burrowed into Dídauar's chest, seemed be cajoling her into embrace it. Dídauar tucked tighter as the creatures hair tickled her chin and neck, resulting in the creature being drawn closer to her which appeared to satisfy whatever was trying to gain her attention as they settled. Dídauar sluggishly woke to take stock of the intruder, primarily to find out whether she needed to beat a hasty retreat or whether she could stay asleep for a few more hours. She smiled when she was presented with an untidy mop of raven hair and a black uniform, bedecked with fine Mithril stitched seams, which clothed all but the creature's hands, head and feet.

"So you are a silver-and-black?" whispered Dídauar, as she negotiated her free arm under Pippin's body so as to properly embrace the Hobbit.

"A what?" asked Pippin as he turned his face up to Dídauar's.

"A Guard of the Citadel," elaborated Dídauar. "The uniform you wear is very distinctive."

"I _was_ a Tower Guard," said Pippin. "But Denethor released me and then he killed himself so I don't know what I am now."

"Once a silver-and-black, always a silver-and-black," replied Dídauar. "What time is it?"

"Here or in decent places?" asked Pippin. Dídauar chuckled lightly.

"Have you been denied a meal?" she asked. Pippin nodded, looking most put out.

"The people here have never heard of _elevenses_ let alone second breakfast!" pouted the Hobbit.

"So it is about ten o'clock?" guessed Dídauar. Pippin nodded.

"Lunch is in about two-and-a-half hours," he reported. "Merry can have all the food he wants, when he wants, but I have to wait for a bell!"

Dídauar burst out laughing at the disgruntled look on Pippin's face which only served to increase the Hobbit's displeasure. Dídauar however felt a lightness about her heart that had been missing since news first reached her that the Ring had been found.

"Thank you Pip," she said through a smile. Pippin canted his head in question.

"What for?" he asked.

"For reminding why I fight," replied the Ranger. "And for showing me that hope still exists."

Pippin continued to look confused but travelling with either Aragorn and/or Gandalf for the last six months, had taught him that not everyone spoke as plainly as his own people. Instead he fished in one of his pockets and withdrew the tokens that Dídauar had given him in Rohan. Dídauar started when she realised what she was being shown.

"Why do you still have them?" she asked.

"Nobody would take them," Pippin said as he held the charms out to Dídauar. "Denethor thought you were dead and told me to remember you with love and honour. Faramir took them to start with but gave them back when he rode out to Osgiliath. Said they were too precious to lose to an Orc."

Dídauar smiled gently as she moved into a seating position, dislodging Pippin as she did so. Kicking back the blankets that covered her, Dídauar found herself dressed in an long sleeved, off-white coloured shift that fell to her ankles. Muttering about the inappropriate attire – at least as far as she was concerned – she held her hand out to Pippin. Pippin quickly placed the charms back in her hand and clambered off the bed. It was as she stood up that Dídauar realised her surroundings had changed.

"Pip, which room is Faramir in?" she asked.

"Four doors right," replied the Hobbit. "You aren't going to visit him are you?"

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?" asked Dídauar as she hunted around for her leggings. She found them folded neatly on a chair along with the rest of her clothing. Pulling her arm out of the sling, she began to negotiate her legs into them, while retaining some level of decorum around the young Halfling.

"Strider says you were to stay in bed for at least another day," replied Pippin.

"And he will be straight back here if he hears that I actually _followed_ such advice," replied Dídauar.

"The old medicine woman might have something to say about a female being alone in the room of the Steward's son," added Pippin.

"Who said I would be alone?" asked Dídauar picking up her shirt. "Pip, turn round for a minute."

"I still don't think they would approve," said Pippin, doing as he was bid.

"As I said, Strider will be worried if I agree to stay in bed and Ioreth has been a medicine woman longer than Faramir has been alive," replied Dídauar. "She wouldn't approve if I went with the entire Gondorian Council hiding in my shadow. However, as a medicine woman she must agree that keeping patients in isolation will not speed up the healing process."

"The entire City will know of your visit by sundown if she finds you," cautioned Pippin. "Gandalf says she has a very loose tongue."

"She does have a habit of over explaining a point," Dídauar chuckled. "But why use one word when ten can convey the answer more precisely? And there is nothing wrong with a warrior visiting another on his sick-bed. You ready?"

"Aren't you going to put anything on your feet?" asked Pippin turning around again. Dídauar shook her head and ditched the shift on the bed.

"They need a rest from being encased in leather," she said. "And since no one has provided me with house slippers, I'll just have to pretend that I'm a Hobbit."

"Too tall," said Pippin matter-of-factly. Dídauar chuckled once more and made for the door, stuffing her charms back into her pocket as she went.

"Maybe I had that extra drink of Ent-wash," she said. Pippin's eyes widened at the comment.

"How did you find out about that?" he demanded, going slightly red as he remembered his bargaining with Treebeard to have "just one more mouthful" of the drink he had given them on their first night in his home.

"Ioreth is not the only one with a loose tongue," grinned Dídauar.

_TTEOAR__TTEOAR_

Faramir was sitting listlessly by the window of his chamber when Dídauar arrived. He gave a grunt of response when Dídauar knocked against the doorjamb to announce her arrival. It wasn't until she sat down in front of him and gathered his hand in hers that he glanced up.

"My Lady?" he questioned, confusion warring with the lethargy in his eyes. Dídauar gave a small pained smile.

"Always one for formality, little one," she said. "But that was not the title you gave me the last time I was here."

When Faramir continued to look confused, Dídauar reached into her pocket and withdrew the wooden tokens and held them out to the young Captain. Faramir dropped his gaze to the trinkets and blinked. He reached out to finger the objects only to retract his hand as though he was defiling something sacred. Dídauar continued to hold out the charms.

"Faerlain?" Faramir asked in amazement, his gaze flicking back up to meet the Dúnadan's eyes. "Oh, I am truly dreaming now. First the King is returned and now a hero of old is sitting in my chambers."

"If it is a dream, then it is a good dream," replied Dídauar gently. "And one from which you will not wake."

"How is so much death a _good_ dream?" asked Faramir.

"Gandalf said that death isn't all that bad," piped up Pippin. "He said that a curtain of this world is pulled back and that we see a white shore and green fields under a golden sunrise."

Dídauar and Faramir smiled at the Hobbit who had still managed to retain some of his innocence despite the horrors he had seen. Both had heard the same explanation before, though it had been Glorfindel that had given it to Dídauar and Imrahil who had given it to Faramir.

"Death is a part of all our journeys, even for the Elves, but it is still hard to let the dead go," said Faramir. "Especially when they are kin."

"But it does their memory an injustice if we remain in the shadows and refuse to accept their gift of one more day under the sun," said Dídauar. "Are you fit enough to go for a brief wander around the gardens?"

"Would it matter that the warden said I was to stay?" replied Faramir with a small smile.

"That does not answer the question I asked you," replied Dídauar as she stood up.

"Yes," said Faramir, his smile widening slightly. "Let us hobble around the flowerbeds like the incapacitated beings some would have us believe we are. Master Halfling are you coming?"

_TTEOAR__TTEOAR_

"How go things in the City?" asked Aragorn as Imrahil, along with Éomer, the Elven twins, Gandalf and other Captains of the West met in his tent that afternoon.

"The people are beginning to piece together what they can of their lives though many are shattered with the loss of the men folk. The Council are _already_ fighting over how the country should be run and we are yet to be free of Sauron and the men are restless," reported Imrahil. "And Faerlain is causing problems in the Houses of Healing. Again."

"Pardon?"

"She still has difficulty understanding the term 'bed-rest'," smiled the Prince. "She and Faramir, along with the raven-haired Halfling, have spent the last few hours in the gardens, much to Mistress Ioreth's displeasure."

"And mine. I told the warden that they were to remain abed till such time that their bodies had rested!" exclaimed Aragorn. Imrahil continued to smile.

"It was their shoulders that were injured not their legs," he said. "And while Faerlain disregards the advice of the healers when her own health is the subject, she does not play roulette with that of others."

"I know," sighed Aragorn. "I just wish she would learn that such advise is not given simply for the sake of it."

"I think you would have better luck asking the sun to stop its path across the sky," said Gamling with a relieved smile. Aragorn smiled weakly.

"At least I know she is healing," he said. "Which is well as I plan to ride again in two days."

"You cannot be serious!" exclaimed Elrohir. "You have just had to pull her from the grip of the Eternal Halls, you _cannot_ be asking her to ride out with you!"

"You are miss understanding me," said Aragorn. "Knowing that Kalya is healing, I feel less guilty about riding out as the Crown of Gondor will not be left unclaimed should I not make return journey."

"And you counselled others against such negative thoughts," chided Imrahil. "I highly doubt you will have been allowed to make it this far, survived unfurling the banner of the King, only to fall at the final hurdle."

"But why should we ride out to meet him?" asked Éomer. Aragorn turned an astonished gaze to the new King of Rohan.

"Your pardon?"

"Sauron is not so foolish as to give up his fight simply because he has lost a Nazgûl," said Éomer. "Why do we not simply wait and have him meet us on the field again?"

"Because we do not have the strength to fight the army the Sauron could mass if we allow him to dictate the terms of battle," replied Elladan.

"And Sauron will have examined the signs we are leaving behind us. He may not be able to leave his confines of Barad-Dûr but his spies are still abroad. He will know of the re-forged sword that once robbed him of his power. He will notice the banner of the King flies once more. He cannot have failed to notice fortune turning against him and he will still be angered by his defeat on Pelennor," elaborated Gandalf. "He will have his suspicions as to the meaning of the signs but doubt will continue to gnaw at him. He will not make a move until he is certain of his answer and we must use that time if we are to hold out hope of a victory."

"And _how_ do you plan on gaining his attention?" asked the Lord of Alfalfas. "The last I checked the Black Tower did not have a front door, nor Sauron a door ward."

"His attention is already fixed on us. On the threat that he perceives us to be posing. For the first time since news of his Ring's discovery, he is concerned with something else, so obsessively that he is blind to all else that is moving," replied Gandalf.

"But you say we do not have strength of arms needed to assail him in battle once more!" protested the Lord.

"I was once told that this war would not be won by strength of arms. That is times of greatest peril, it was the forgotten that deserved the greatest credit," said Aragorn.

"Ah, so you _do_ listen to your sister," chuckled Gandalf. Aragorn sent him a disparaging look but the wizard shrugged it off.

"It is not a victory that we ride towards," said Aragorn. "But if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us long enough, then others may have a chance to give us the freedom and peace we so badly crave."

"Then why don't we do as Lord Éomer suggests. Let us simply sit here, or at Dunharrow, or Dol Amroth," sneered the Alfalfas Lord. "You say his gaze is fixed on us anyway, why waste valuable men just to test Mithrandir's theory."

"You have sat like children on sandcastles with the tide coming in long enough!" snapped Aragorn. "For too long did Denethor perceive but fail to act. For too long did you sit by and allow your country to fall further into ruin as he fell to despair and not _one_ of you, save Imrahil, sought to ease his burden."

'Estel, losing your temper on the eve of battle is not a good idea,' cautioned Elladan gently. Aragorn took a deep breath before continuing his statement.

"We have a chance to turn the fortunes of this war in our favour," he said in a slightly calmer voice. "We do not ride to a victory for ourselves, but we can give Frodo a chance to complete the task he was set."


	23. Healing Of Heart And Soul

**Chapter Twenty-Three - Healing Of Heart And Soul**

Dídauar, having returned Faramir to the Houses at luncheon meal, remained outside in the gardens, meandering around the varying flower and herb boarders which were a patchwork of colours. After wandering for about half-an-hour, she came across Culas who had been sitting beneath an oak sapling, simply gazing at the newly budding trees and flowers, each unopened blossom holding the promise of spring and new life.

"Culas," breathed the Dúnadan with a mixture of relief and joy upon seen her youngest kinsman alive and reasonably healthy. Culas turned his head and gave his Captain a wan smile at the whisper of his name but he did not offer her his usual enthusiastic welcome, immediately telling Dídauar that something was the matter.

"Can you tell me?" she asked gently as she sat down.

"Spring is the wrong season for war," said Culas. Dídauar cocked her head.

"Is there a right season for war?" she asked. Culas shook his head.

"But the winter is more suitable," he replied. "Everything else dies back, it is easier to bear another death. Spring? 'tis the season for new life and yesterday…… How do you do it Shadow? How can you continually throw yourself into battle? How do you remain sane after watching comrade after comrade, friend after friend, fall before you?"

"By not fixating on the dead," replied Dídauar. "I mourn them, remember them as they were before their spirit fled and try to continue with life without their presence."

"You never sought retribution?" asked Culas.

"On several occasions," replied Dídauar with a mirthless laugh. "It took Cempa's death to make me realise that I was running down the wrong path.

"After every death I witnessed, and especially Eadwig's murder, I sought revenge. There is no other way to describe it. I set out with the cold-blooded intention to kill, or at least physically harm, the perpetrator. It wasn't until I held Cempa as his died that I realised that I had not been honouring the memory of the fallen. It was anger, more than grief, that took hold of me and being embittered by the fact that the Valar had saw fit to take yet another person from my life, I quickly lost sight of what the fallen had taught me, what they had worked and died for, and became little better than the ones who had killed them in the first place."

"Is that why you never touched the Dunlendings when we were in Rohan?" said Culas. Dídauar looked a little startled. Culas hadn't been at Helm's Deep to see her fight so _how_ did he know that she only attacked the Orcs?

"Tarondor muttered quite a lot," explained the youth. "Something about you becoming soft-hearted."

"Why am I not surprised?" muttered Dídauar. "But in answer to your question, with the exception of Orcs, every warrior I slay has a family, whether it's parents, siblings, lover, spouse, children. Knowing what it is like to lose such to battle, I would never inflict that pain on another by seeking vengeance for the action on a battle field.

"The twins will be less than impressed if they find out I said this but, I do not wish death upon the Haradrim that killed Halbarad, nor the archers who perpetuated Pethurin's fall or the Easterling that stabbed Herion. It was a battle, they all knew what they were heading towards and just as we believe it is our duty to follow orders and kill the followers of Sauron, they believe that _we_ are the enemy and it is _their_ duty to kill _us_. The line between good and evil is _very_ shaky and which side you stand depends on another's perception."

"Any more talk like that I will have you arrested for treason," sneered a stranger's voice behind them. Dídauar and Culas turned and were greeted by a man of similar age to Boromir. He was dressed in crush-velvet robes that were deep wine-red in colour, the cuffs and collar decorated with intricate gold stitching which signified nobility. A sword hung at his waist as did a small dagger, a blood ruby set in the hilt.

"And who are you?" asked Dídauar standing up.

"Lord Carnir," said the man. "Lieutenant of Lebennin and member of the Council of Gondor."

"Very well, _Lord_ Carnir, I am Dídauar of the Dúnedain. Pray tell how speaking ones mind is an act of treason, especially when no individual is threatened, whether directly or indirectly?"

"You were inciting a change in allegiances," replied Carnir.

"I was?" questioned Dídauar and Culas saw that she was undecided between looking shocked or laughing. "I'm afraid you miss understood what you heard, not that it was a conversation for your ears."

"You were telling of how we are the same as the servants of the Dark Lord," said Carnir.

"Lieutenant, do you need air to breathe? Water to drink? Food to eat? Do you bleed when you are cut? Do you die if you are badly injured? Do you carry love for your family? Can you feel lust, fear, anger, grief? I know for a fact that the Easterlings and Haradrim do. We are all the same, the only difference is which side of the Anduin we have our camps set up!" replied Dídauar.

"I will never be the same as those savages!" hissed Carnir.

"If you use the blades that hang at your waist to maim and kill, you are _exactly_ like those 'savages'," said Dídauar sharply. Carnir looked highly insulted. Straightening his robes unnecessarily, he drew him self up to his full height of 5ft 10inches and attempted to intimidate Dídauar. Dídauar being at least an inch taller, the effect was lost but it didn't stop the man trying.

"I shall speak to the Steward about your behaviour and words," he said.

"Go ahead," said Dídauar with sarcastic enthusiasm. "He is visiting my brother with King Éomer. They will most likely be in the tent with the banner of the King flying above its door."

Culas had to hide his smile as the colour drained from Carnir's face but the Gondorian maintained a majority of his composure and turned on his heel, his robe billowing out with the move, and marched away to the stables.

"Thank you," said Culas with a small smile.

"What for?" asked Dídauar a little bemused.

"For putting things into perspective," said the youth. "While I cannot forgive the ones who have stolen our people, I understand that the fallen would not want me to exact vengeance in their name."

"No one is asking you to forgive, Culas," said Dídauar. "But do not let your anger fester. You are right, the fallen, especially Halbarad, would not wish for you to shed more needless blood in their name. Instead, stay alive, be grateful for each new day under the Sun their sacrifice has granted you, and you will do them more honour than if you delivered another soul to the Eternal Halls before its time. Now, could you tell me which room Arahael is in?"

_TTEOAR__TTEOAR_

The atmosphere in Arahael's room was sombre to say the least. Arahael lay prone on a bed beneath a wide arch window, covered by a crisp cotton sheet and a light feather down, Tarcil curled catlike at the bottom of the bed. The elder of the twins lay watching his brother with an eagle sharp gaze, not even the slightest of moves going unnoticed. Culas lingered in the doorway while Dídauar crossed to the bed and rested a hand on Tarcil's shoulder. The smoke-eyed twin jumped at the touch but quickly recovered himself and pulled Dídauar into a tight embrace.

"How are you?" asked Dídauar, pulling away slightly to take in her cousin's bedraggled appearance.

"I have had better days," replied Tarcil, brushing his cheek against the palm that caressed his skin as Dídauar swept hair for in front of his face.

"I imagine you have," said Dídauar sympathetically. "But he is healing so there is hope yet."

"I will have to take your word on that for I cannot see it," said Tarcil. "How am I supposed to tell him that we are the commanders now? That Father is dead?"

"It is likely he already knows," said Culas quietly. Tarcil swung his head in the direction of the teenager. "We found……they were together when……"

Dídauar raised her arm to Culas, a gesture that was gladly accepted. It appeared that Culas was still struggling to cope with the aftershock of a major battle. For Dídauar, battle and carnage was something that had haunted her dreams for the last seventy years and even the twins had more experience, though not by much. Culas however had only recently started to join patrols and had never witnessed, let alone _experienced_ something on the scale that was Pelennor.

"I'm sorry," whispered the youth, gazing at his new commander. Tarcil shook his head but it was Arahael that answered.

"You've done nothing wrong," he murmured. His three kinsman turned to face him and Arahael smiled weakly at them.

"Hey," said Tarcil, crawling up the bed to settle beside his twin. Arahael lifted his arm to brush at Tarcil's cheek, similar to a kitten greeting a fellow littermate.

"You haven't been sleeping," he chastised.

"I couldn't," replied Tarcil, nuzzling into the hand. "You scared me."

"Not intentionally," murmured Arahael. Keeping his hand raised to Tarcil's face, Arahael turned to face Dídauar and Culas.

"Thank you," he said, his gaze fixed on Culas. Culas cocked his head, completely confused as to why Arahael was thanking him. The last time he had been in contact with Arahael he had caused him pain, a necessary pain, but such rational was not sitting easily with Culas at the moment. The Dúnedain were a close-knit community and with their numbers declining at an even faster rate in recent years, each one of them – young and old; woman, child and warrior – held to an unspoken promise never to harm one of their own. Culas obviously felt that he had gone against the hidden vow.

"You saved my life," expanded Arahael.

"I hurt you," choked Culas.

"Sometimes you have to hurt someone to save them," said Tarcil, understanding where Culas' juvenile thoughts and understanding was leading him, even more so since he himself had faced a similar conflict a few years previously.

"We've all done it Culas," comforted Dídauar. "But so long as it is done with love then you are forgiven."

"You, Sadorennor, spend far too much time in the company of your mentor," chuckled Gandalf as he arrived. Dídauar canted her head in the wizard's direction.

"Do the words; pot, kettle and black mean anything to you?" she inquired.

"I can assure you, my dear, you have spent more time in the company of the Lord Elrond than I have, despite our long years of friendship," said Gandalf. "Now, I hear you have been upsetting some of the Gondorian council?"

"Merely voicing my opinion. To Culas," shrugged Dídauar. "It is hardly my fault that the Lieutenant didn't like what he heard. How did Imrahil take his accusation of treason?"

"Recited the legal definition of treason and warned him against bringing such serious charges against the King's sister without proper evidence. Hearsay and "he said, she said" arguments do not carry much weight in a court of law," replied Gandalf. "Our young lord was most put out but as a student of the law, had to agree with Imrahil was right. Aragorn then took great pleasure in bodily removing him from his tent."

"A warrior for sixty years and you _still_ have men fighting to protect your honour and virtue," grinned Tarcil.

"It is a waste of breath telling you not to," rejoined Dídauar.

"Lazy," said Arahael. Dídauar shrugged again. Gandalf cleared his throat, not exactly keen on the idea of breaking up the kin, especially since Tarcil was holding Arahael as close as the younger twin's injuries allowed, but duty was still demanding the attention of the hale and healthy.

"Culas, Tarcil, Aragorn would like to speak to you both. I am sorry, but since he is still refusing to enter the city, you will have to leave your kin in the hands of the healers," said the wizard.

As predicted, Tarcil's expression turned mutinous, and that was describing it mildly, at the idea of leaving his bedridden twin. Arahael noticed and cuffed him gently.

"Go," he said when Tarcil turned to look at him. "Even a commander must heed the behest of his King."

"But……"

"I'm not going anywhere," said Arahael gently. "And I will not be alone."

"I will be back as soon as I can," said Tarcil, gripping Arahael's hand tightly in his own. Arahael smiled at him.

"The King calls," he said. "And Culas needs you." Tarcil switched his gaze to the youth standing next to Gandalf and still looking mildly distressed. Gripping Arahael's hand and pressing a kiss to his forehead, Tarcil moved to Culas, wrapping a comforting arm about his shoulders signalling to Gandalf to lead the way to the Dúnedain camp.

Once alone, Arahael held his hand out to Dídauar. Dídauar moved from the foot of the bed to occupy Tarcil's vacated spot, gripping the appendage as she did so.

"I am sorry," Arahael whispered. Dídauar looked startled.

"It is I that should be apologising," she said. Arahael resolutely shook his head.

"You did what you could," he said. "I didn't make that easy for you. I knew you wouldn't harm my father. I knew you did everything to help the others."

"Arahael, all you did was put into words what had been running through my mind since I Grimbold told me of Théodred's fall," insisted Dídauar. "You spoke from love and fear, both of which are justified, and if you hadn't lashed out I would have been more hurt and worried. The truth may be a bitter herb to swallow but is far less harmful than a lie."

"But they trust you," murmured Arahael. "My brother trusts you. My father trusted you. The _Rohirrim_ trust you. I was the only one……the only one who refused to see."

"If you didn't trust me, you wouldn't let me sit here, let alone seek my touch or have followed me into battle," said Dídauar.

"I followed my father to Gondor," protested Arahael.

"But you followed _me_ to Rohan," said Dídauar, brushing the young man's fringe from his eyes. "Even as I descended into despair and carried out one suicidal action after another, you stuck with me. Even though I had done you wrong by hiding my gift from you but not your brother, you continued to ask "how high?" when I said jump. For whatever transgressions you fear you have committed, you are forgiven and I pray that, in time, you can forgive me for mine."

Arahael swallowed around the lump that was gathering in his throat and blinked away the tears that were beginning to blur his vision.

"Thank you," he whispered. Dídauar continued to smile gently and gripped Arahael's hand.


	24. Say Farewell For Goodbye Is Permanent

**Chapter Twenty-Four - Say Farewell For Goodbye Is Permanent**

Dídauar remained in the Houses of Healing for another day, flitting mainly between her cousin and Faramir. Both men were healing though neither rate of progress seemed to satisfy the healers who insisted that they remain within the establishment. Since neither man had the physical strength to cope with more than a brief walk in the gardens, Arahael barely being able to answer the call of nature without some form of support, they didn't put up much of a fight. Dídauar however, healed surprisingly quickly. Admittedly her wound was still held closed by stitches and her energy levels were far from what she was use to but by dusk of the second day after Pelennor, she was fit enough to be released from the healer's charge. Unsurprisingly, Éowyn was most perturbed by the decision, especially since she was forced to remain.

"Éomer will not be impressed if he finds you in another battle," said Dídauar, seating herself beside the Rohirric Lady and gathering up her free hand. "He has enough to worry about without having to guard his sister's back."

"I do not need anyone to watch my back," snapped Éowyn. Dídauar gave a small smile.

"I have said the same thing since I was seventeen years old," she said. "It has yet to stop my family trying to protect me."

"At least they let you fight!" said Éowyn as she scowled at the Dúnadan. Dídauar continued to smile gently.

"There wasn't much they could do to stop me," she said. "But this is one battle I will have to miss and honestly? I am glad of it. Too much blood has already been spilt by my hand, I do not wish to shed any more."

"Then _why_ are you a warrior?" asked Éowyn. "Why do you insist on following your brother and why are you leaving for the camp?"

"I am a warrior because it is the easiest way to protect my people. It is not my nature to sit by and let other's bare the pain and sorrows that should be mine. I lost my father when I too young to even remember his face because he tried to protect his wife and children, I refuse to lose others the same way when I can protect myself. I follow my brother for the same reason you followed yours. Because you love him, unconditionally, and would do anything to keep him from harm. And I am leaving for the camp so that I may spend one more night with him before he rides out. If you wish it, I can have Éomer join you this night."

"I wish you luck with that one," sighed Éowyn. "He has spent every waking moment with the men preparing for battle."

"There are certain advantages to being a young boy's hero," said Dídauar. "If you wish it, I do my best to make it happen."

"Isn't coercion unbecoming of a Princess?" asked Éowyn.

"I am the last person you would call a Princess," replied Dídauar. "And it would not be coercion. I would simply be telling him to spend time with his sister before he rides out once more. Do you wish him to come?"

Éowyn nodded emphatically.

"Then he will come," said Dídauar, gripping the hand she held before standing. "I will speak with you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," repeated Éowyn as Dídauar moved off. "My Lady?"

Dídauar turned, a small smile still gracing her features. "My _name_ is Dídauar. Or Faerlain if it be your desire to call me such."

Éowyn flushed. "Thank you," she said simply. "My uncle once spoke of you being like a beacon of hope to our people. I can see that he spoke true."

"I am no Sorceress, Éowyn," Dídauar said. "I cannot give people what they do not already have."

* * *

Aragorn sat in the middle of his tent, staring at the trodden earth beneath him as he absently chewed on the mouthpiece of his pipe. Before him lay the Elessar – the green stone that had been left in Lothlórien for him by Arwen – and the Mithril ring that Elrond had given him. The two objects, one metal, the other precious stone, glinted in the light from the fire contained within a brazier that was used to heat and light the tent. He vaguely registered the breeze that the opening of his tent flap caused but since no one demanded his attention, he didn't look up.

Dídauar stood before the entrance, quietly studying the man that had been her Chieftain since they were toddlers, whether they had known it or not, and who would soon be her King, officially crowned before a cheering people of Gondor. The standard of the King would soon be fluttering proudly in the wind along side the banner of Gondor as the crown was placed on his head and a white blossom would swirl about him, imitating the snow that Gondor rarely saw, except at the highest mountain peak. It had not been her mind that had shown such an image but that of her Rohirric champion; Eadwig. As he lay dying from the horrific stab wound to his side, he had spoken of his dream and just before the last breath had escaped his body, Dídauar had promised that she would do everything in her power to make the dream become reality. Now, such completion was within their grasp.

"You are thoughtful," she said, chuckling gently as Aragorn looked up startled.

"Kalya?" he whispered. Dídauar nodded, smiling at the completely bewildered look her brother was wearing.

"You are looking at me the same way you did Lindir's white hair the first day you saw him," Dídauar said, walking forward to crouch before Aragorn.

"You're up. No bandages. Out from under the hawk-like gaze of the healers. Healthy," replied Aragorn. "The last time I saw you, you were pale, mostly unresponsive, your entire left side was covered in swathing."

"My left side is still bandaged and my shoulder is held closed with thread," said Dídauar. "But other than that, I am fine. A little tired, but that is easily cured. To be honest, I think the healers wanted rid of me as quickly as possible."

"Imrahil did say you were causing problems," rejoined Aragorn with a smile. Dídauar looked nonchalant.

"All I did was sit and talk in the gardens. And everything was decided by whoever I was with," she replied.

"When I ordered bed-rest," said Aragorn, crossing his arms.

"Hey, they knew the orders as well as I did. I didn't force anybody," protested Dídauar, removing her weapons and depositing herself properly on the ground before her brother, her ankle and thigh muscles beginning to complain about the position they were in.

"How is Arahael?" asked Aragorn.

"He's coping. Just," replied Dídauar. "He is in so much physical discomfort at the moment that I don't think his emotional pain has been allowed to be expressed."

"I am not surprised considering the damage the scimitar did to his chest," remarked Aragorn, retrieving the Elessar and twin-ring from the ground. "I take it he at least is taking the order for bed-rest seriously?"

"He doesn't have an awful lot of choice," said Dídauar. "He can barely make it to the bathing chamber without support. He is spending most of his time sleeping; side effect from the pain suppressants that are floating around his blood."

"At least he will be safe," sighed Aragorn. "I tried to dissuade Tarcil and Culas from following me tomorrow but both are adamant that they are following where I lead. I even have _Pippin_ riding under my banner! Six months ago he would have balked at the idea of war or black riders and most likely have called me a drunken fool if I spoke of Orcs or a lidless flaming eye, yet I had him down here during dinner _demanding_ that he be allowed to ride. Said something about fighting for Faramir. Can you shed some light on that?"

"He is a Tower Guard," explained Dídauar. "Apparently he swore to repay the debt of Boromir's life to Denethor by offering his sword. Denethor accepted and while he was released from office hours before Denethor killed himself, Pippin still sees his debt as unpaid and wants to continue fighting for Gondor."

"I suppose the fact Merry already has a battle honour to his name has nothing to do with his decision?" inquired Aragorn.

"Not that he's told me, but I did hear them arguing as to whose armour was better and who had the more heroic tale to tell when they return to the Shire," remarked Dídauar, snatching the pipe from in between Aragorn's teeth and tipping out the cinders.

"Hey!" yelped Aragorn with mock annoyance. Dídauar grinned as she held the now empty pipe out to Aragorn.

"No smoking around the wounded," she said matter-of-factly.

"So _now_ you are wounded?" said Aragorn raising an eyebrow.

"I never said I wasn't injured," said Dídauar still offering out the pipe. "I am just not as incapacitated as Ioreth would have everyone believe."

Aragorn chuckled as he snatched the pipe from his sister and buried it in his pack before turning a playfully menacing gaze on Dídauar which instantly had the younger twin worried.

"Estel what……" she began only to squeak in surprise as Aragorn lunged at her, making sure that most of his weight collided with the right side of her body and that it would hit the ground first. Keeping his arms wrapped around his sister, Aragorn rolled onto his back, dragging Dídauar with him. As Dídauar rested her weight on her healthy arm to glare down at the Chieftain, Aragorn raised a hand to her cheek, running his thumb across the cheekbone just below her eye as he looked at her in wonder.

"Something is different," he said.

"With me?" Dídauar asked, cocking her head. Aragorn nodded in confirmation.

"There is a peace about you that I _never_ thought I would see again," he said. Dídauar stared at him. "You are smiling, laughing, joking when only a week ago you could not bare the sight or sound of frivolity."

"I……" began Dídauar but couldn't actually think of how to continue. Aragorn smiled and wrapping his arms back around Dídauar, rolled them so the younger twin was once again flat on the ground.

"Don't try and explain," he said. "It isn't special if you can explain it."

As Dídauar smiled up at him, Aragorn reached over to the pallet that constituted his bed while camped on the Pelennor and pulled the blankets from the end. Gripping one end and throwing the rest of the material up to release the folds, he settled it over Dídauar who instinctively lifted one edge to her brother. Aragorn gladly took the offer and quickly, the twins arranged themselves into a familiar and welcome position – Aragorn on his back with both arms wrapped tightly around Dídauar who was curled halfway across him. Ignoring the fact that there was a pallet that could easily have held them both but a few feet away, the heirs to Gondor fell quickly into a sleep that was both deep and peaceful.

* * *

With the morning came a difficult parting. All around the camps, both Dúnedain and Rohirric, men were gathering weapons, saddling horses and eating a hasty breakfast. Whether they expected this was their final parting or not was never voiced but the twins remained close to each other from the moment they woke. About an hour-and-a-half after dawn, Gandalf arrived in the camp bearing Pippin before him on Shadowfax. Behind the wizard had followed Imrahil and his Swan-Knights and five-hundred men of Gondor, the banners of Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith fluttering proudly in the wind. Soon the banner of a white horse joined those of Gondor as the Rohirrim army moved into rank with their southern comrades. Imrahil and Éomer strode towards the twins who stood just outside the tent they had shared the previous night, the elder man saluting the pair.

"Let _this_ be the hour in which we draw our swords together," said Éomer as he gripped Aragorn's forearm in greeting.

"The King rides again at last," said Imrahil. "Already we have hope."

Aragorn smiled gently in thanks, his voice choked in his throat as he looked around at the men that were prepared to follow his banner, most likely to their deaths.

"This is who you were born to be," said Dídauar. "The blind faith of your men has already won half the battle."

'Be here when I return?' whispered Aragorn, switching to Sindarin. Dídauar smiled and fished out the ring that hung about her brother's neck, along with the Elessar stone.

'Keep these with you and you will return. Look for me on the field of Cormallen at noon of the eleventh day,' she said. Aragorn grasped her hand briefly and dotted a kiss to her forehead. Dídauar reciprocated the gesture before pulling away.

'Namárië, nan lû i agovaded vîn' she said and with a final smile she turned on her heel and fled. Éomer and Imrahil stared after her in amazement. _(Farewell, until next we meet)_

"From what does she flee?" asked Imrahil.

"Watching kith and kin ride to where she cannot follow," replied Aragorn as the Elven twins approached, leading both their own mounts and Roheryn.

"It is time," reported Elrohir, his face set in an unreadable mask. Aragorn nodded once before swinging himself on to Roheryn's saddle. Éomer and Imrahil quickly returned to the head of their vanguard where their own horses were held in readiness. Moving himself to the head of the combined armies, Elladan and Elrohir slipping into the ranks of the Dúnedain, Aragorn gave the order to ride.

It was the beginning of the end.


	25. Those Left Behind

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

I have no idea where the idea for the beginning of this chapter came from. I think I was missing my Elves.

The latter part of this chapter is really about Dídauar coming into her own and demonstrating her power as a leader. I know she is Dúnedain Captain but either Aragorn or Halbarad has been standing in her shadow. The idea here is that she is calling all the shots and not looking to anyone for guidance (at least not at the time she is giving the orders) It also helps show why she became to be so loved by the people of Rohan/Minas Tirith both as Faerlain and Dídauar.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five - Those Left Behind**

As the Host of the West rode east to face the might of Sauron, a shadow continued to gain power in the deep places of the world until it could no longer be contained. Sure of victory, Orcs and Wildmen increased their assault of both the Dúnedain Stronghold and the Valley of Imladris. Glorfindel and the temporary commander of the Dúnedain rallied their people again and again and, while there were casualties, determination of will and hope of victory meant they could not be subdued. Beaten, battered, bruised but never defeated. Mirkwood and the people of Thranduil also fought on valiantly against the threat of Dol Guldur but there the Elves, having lived with darkness and evil for so long, were beginning to lose hope. Even the Golden Wood was beset, but the shadow that descended on Lothlórien was of a different nature.

Since the return of the warriors from the Battle of Helm's Deep, Haldir had retreated further and further into himself. Not the most sociable of Elves in the first place, none but a select few being recipient of his public displays of emotion, it had taken several days for any change to be noticed. At first, his men had teased him about pining for Dídauar, the affection the March-Warden held for the Dúnadan never being a secret, but eventually it was realised that his withdrawal had a more sinister explanation.

Haldir was fading.

Despite his cool reception to many of his people, Haldir was a beloved child of the Golden Wood, not least of Celeborn who had always looked upon the younger Elf as a son even before the brothers came under the guardianship of him and Galadriel, and was held in high regard by a majority of the warriors under his command. Several of them, particularly those who had fought with him at Helm's Deep, tried to pull him from the raging river of despair but none, not even Rúmil could offer him the solace and peace of mind that was so badly craved. In desperation, they turned to Celeborn and Galadriel, hoping that the Elven sorceress and her husband would be able to anchor Haldir to Arda. Both tried but as the rumour of war grew louder in Lothlórien, the weaker Haldir's star seemed to shine. After two weeks of struggling through the day and forcing himself to fight the whispers that danced around his mind at night, all but one promising peace if only he would but surrender to them, Haldir fell ill with a fever and slipped into unconsciousness.

Rúmil forced his own grief to the back of his mind and the bottom of his heart as he took up a silent and continuous vigil over his ailing brother. Ever morning and night he prayed to the Valar, begging them not to shatter what remained of his family. Despite the fact he loved his wife and son with everything he had, that his soul had been twinned with Orophin's, Rúmil had always known that Haldir owned a substantial part of his heart. He knew that if Haldir also fell, especially if he faded from his grief, then he too would fail though it was unlikely he would take the slow route of fading. He would not kill himself, he had too much honour for that, but he would become careless in battle. All it would take was one carefully aimed enemy arrow and he too would join the tally of the dead who had been claimed in this war. He did not know what effect his death would have on his wife or son but knew that whatever damage was caused would be irreversible.

"You have to fight!" he hissed, almost savagely to the lifeless Haldir. "Your men need a leader they can trust, not one that has been thrust upon them because of circumstance. Lothlórien needs you to help protect her borders. _I_ need a reason to keep going!"

Haldir barely reacted, though his head did turn in the direction of Rúmil's voice. Rúmil reached out a hand and brushed the sweat-slicked hair from Haldir's cheek before cupping the clammy skin.

"Orophin would not wish for you to fall," he whispered. "I watched him Haldir. If he wanted you to fall, he would not have taken that scimitar at Helm's Deep. Do not do this Haldir, please. There are too many that still need you, need your presence, whether it is the loving Haldir that you show Lord and family, or the cold March-warden. We need you to guide us Haldir. _Kalya_ still needs you."

At the mention of his charge, Haldir released a muffled whimper. Rúmil thought it odd that he reacted to Dídauar's name rather than Orophin's but since Haldir wasn't about to answer his questions didn't voice his thoughts. His thoughts didn't remain private for very long however as Galadriel gently rested a hand on Rúmil's shoulder, startling the younger Elf who quickly stood to salute her.

"He believes Orophin safe," said the Lady, with a gentle smile. Even at his most desolate, duty always came first for the brothers. The only time the voice of duty was silenced was if it would hamper the help needed by one of their own. Rúmil blinked up at the Sorceress in confusion.

"My Lady?" he asked.

"Haldir believes Orophin to be safe now that he has departed this world. He will grieve but in time will come to accept that one day he will hold his little brother in his arms once more," explained Galadriel taking a seat on the bed beside Haldir. Rúmil retook his seat next to the bed and waited for Galadriel to continue with her explanation.

"With the Lady Dídauar, he is not so certain. Yes he can hold on to the hope that she will make it through this war and that your parting at Helm's Deep was not the last but as the Shadow's grip is beginning to tighten even around Lothlórien, that hope is dwindling. If It has reached these woods, what hope does he have that Gondor still stands?" continued the Elven Lady.

"We would know," stated Rúmil. "We would know if Kalya had fallen. If _any_ of the twins had fallen."

"Not even the wisest know who will survive this war," replied Galadriel.

"We would know," stated Rúmil again, switching his gaze back to Haldir. "We would know."

* * *

_**Minas Tirith**_

For those who remained in the White City, the waiting game was not an appreciated pastime. Every morning Dídauar was to be found on the battlements gazing out to the east and every evening, after sunset, gazing westwards. Everyone who saw her understood the meaning behind the first visit, every mother, wife and child left in the city often sending their gaze and prayers out to the east, but failed to find reason for the second. It was Merry who first answered some of the questions that the others had about the odd behaviour.

"When we were still with the Fellowship, Strider would always stare back along the road when we stopped for the night," he said as he made himself comfortable on the bench beside Éowyn as she sat with Faramir. A friendship was developing slowly between the young Lady of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor and while Ioreth had expressed her displeasure on more than one occasion, the warden had bidden her to keep her thoughts to herself and watched with a tender gaze as the lost and broken souls slowly began to heal and find a new place in the world.

"I remember seeing her do it when I was a child," commented Faramir. "Father said Thorongil – or rather Aragorn – did the same thing."

"Maybe they were thinking of their home," commented Éowyn. "On the way to battle, my uncle and brother would often look back towards Edoras, even if we were long past the point where the Golden Hall could be seen. The closer we got to Minas Tirith, the more we longed for Rohan."

"If that were the case, the time of day would not be so specific," commented Faramir. "It is always an hour after sunset that she can be seen."

"Little one, are you spying on me?" asked Dídauar sounding mildly amused. Faramir swung around so quickly that his neck cricked, causing him to wince in pain. Éowyn cringed as she heard the collision of bone and muscle tissue.

"We were wondering about your nightly wanderings on the battlements," said the Rohirrim, coming straight to the point as was her style. Dídauar smiled.

"I am keeping an eye on my brothers and Guardian," she said.

"Eh?" was the extent of Merry's intelligent response to such a declaration. Dídauar chuckled, realising that she was not going to be allowed to leave it at that. With an exaggerated sigh, she deposited herself on the ground before the three and looked up enquiringly.

"What do you want to know?" she asked.

Dídauar spent the next half hour explaining why she wandered the path of the sun every day since the Host had ridden out. She left out several details – such as why she was watching Haldir's star as well as that of her twin and the fact that the warden's star was fading – and apologised to each one of her audience that she was unable to track the progress of their respective kin, the task of assigning a particular identity to a star being a very personal one. For example, the star that denoted her for Elrohir was different (and in a completely different area of the sky) to the one Elrond used. Only a few stars had universal and undisputed meaning, chief among them being Eärendil.

"I am sorry, I can be of no more help to you," said Dídauar. "And even if I could watch the stars for you, I know they do not always tell the truth."

"What do you mean?" asked Faramir.

"Halbarad's star still shines yet I have seen his corpse," replied Dídauar. Faramir looked contrite as he noticed the flash of pain that sounded through Dídauar's eyes. Dídauar however, refused to acknowledge the knife that seemed to be twisting in her heart, smiling gently at the fox-copper Steward.

"It is a comfort Faramir. His star gives me a point of stability in a rapidly changing world," she said standing up. "But the end is near, which ever way the scales chooses to tip."

With a small bow, Dídauar turned back to the House where Arahael was still confined. Looking amused, Éowyn turned to face Faramir.

"Has she _ever_ spoken plainly?" she asked.

"There was the odd occasion where she did," replied Faramir, equally amused. "But most of the time, the Wild-Child of Rohan is as fanciful as the winds on which she rides. She never lies though, regardless of how she chooses to convey her point."

"Which is well considering her position," said Éowyn. "An untruthful leader does not do much to inspire much trust or loyalty. She will do well for Gondor."

"I don't think she'll stay with us," said Faramir.

"But she is the King's sister!" protested Merry, maybe a little too loudly as a passing healer looked at them enquiringly. Merry immediately hung his head, fighting the embarrassed flush that spread across his cheeks.

"Sorry, Pippin told me," he muttered.

"It's alright," chuckled Faramir, reaching over to tousle Merry's sandy hair. "Many here already have their suspicions and the army rode out under the banner of the King. But being the sister of the King does not mean that she has to stay in Minas Tirith. If some of the councillors have their way, she will be married off to the first suitable candidate that comes looking."

"I don't see her agreeing to that," smiled Éowyn. Merry nodded his head in agreement while Faramir smiled at them both, looking a little melancholy.

"It will not be marriage that keeps her away," he said slightly mournfully. "As children, Boromir and I heard her tales of Elves and the north and, though she was content in Minas Tirith and at my father's side, it was as she told of her people and her homeland that she seemed to be alive and truly happy."

* * *

Dídauar slid into Arahael's room with the stealth that her namesake suggested. Standing by the door, she observed her cousin with a small smile. Arahael was sitting beside the window of his room, curled up as much as he could without causing himself pain, and gazing out over the Pelennor. Every now-and-a-again his gaze would flick down to something resting in his hand before that hand became a fist and raised to his mouth and kissed.

"He will return," said Dídauar as she stepped into the fissure of sunlight that lit the room. Arahael looked up startled.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, his hand dropping to his lap.

"Long enough to know that you are missing Tarcil," she said, moving to sit beside the young man. "You don't have to worry, he will return to you and our people."

"You are that confident," said Arahael, twisting his head in Dídauar's direction.

"Arahael, I _know_ he will return," said the Dúnadan Captain, sweeping hair from Arahael's vision, resting her palm against his cheek. "And no, I have not Seen this. Sometimes it is better to go with a gut feeling than a swirl of colour and scattering of metaphors. I have watched you from the day you were born, and will continue to do so until the day you die. I know you both, better than you know yourselves. Tarcil will fight Sauron himself, and any other demon placed in his way, to reach your side again."

"As I would for him," murmured Arahael. "Do you think we can win? We have lost so many already."

"We will win," assured Dídauar. "We wield weapons of hope, love, valour and courage. Sauron does not understand, so will seek to destroy. _That_ will be his undoing."

"I hope your right," said Arahael, unable to pull himself out of his foul mood. Dídauar smiled gently at Arahael's comment. Maybe Námo had been right when he had told her the twins were not ready for the task of leadership alone. She reached out and gripped Arahael's hand, bringing it to her own lips to kiss the leather cord that was wrapped around the back of the young man's fist. She knew what was clasped beneath the fingers and what the gesture symbolised. Arahael's breathing hitched at the touch and he struggled to keep his eyes from watering up with tears.

"We _will _win and he _will_ return," repeated Dídauar, both twins unaware that their other halves were indulging in a similar conversation nearly a hundred miles away.

* * *

The morning of the 25th March dawned just like any other of the past week; crisp, bright and with a distinct air of trepidation hanging around the people. Once more Dídauar was to be found on the battlements staring out to the East but this morning she was joined by a few of the guards. Something was different about this particular morning but exactly _what_ was different remained nothing more than a niggling sensation in the back of everyone's mind. The sensation continued to annoy the people throughout the day and was not helped by the fact that darkness began to settle at around the noon hour, when the Sun should have been shining in all its glory. Anticipating another attack similar to the one that had occurred during the siege, the residents of the lower circles retreated indoors, the streets that had been previously filled with the noise of chatting women and playing children growing deathly quiet.

As the darkness continued to grow over Minas Tirith, and the growing anticipation of an attack, though no enemy was yet to be spotted across the Pelennor, Dídauar slipped into the role of Commander-in-Chief as though it was a second skin. With the city still vulnerable after the destruction of the Main Gate, she ordered that the women and children be moved higher into the city, those with children under ten being pulled back to the sixth and seventh level where they would be afforded the greatest protection should the city come under attack again. The first three levels were to be sealed, the remaining guards also being pulled back. Her orders, and the fact that a _female_ Ranger was daring to take control, did not settle well with many of the older gentry whose age and lack of physical strength meant that they had not ridden out with the Host.

"Who are you to come here and start ordering us about?" demanded Arodanu, the eldest of those who remained.

"Dídauar, daughter of Arathorn," replied Dídauar, looking up from the map that was in front of her. "Sister to the King."

"Nonsense," scoffed a second, who went by the name of Brandír. "That line was broken centuries ago."

"I can assure you it wasn't," replied Dídauar, straightening her stance and folding her arms. "Hidden in shadow and shrouded in mystery, becoming nothing more than a rumour spoken by those who still had hope, but never broken. I want those people pulled back past the fourth level, given shelter, warmth and food for as long as it is needed."

"And who will recompense us?" asked Arodanu.

"If you are deemed worthy, then you will be rewarded by the Valar," she replied, beginning to lose patience with the men before her. "I will not have this petty squabbling as to what rights someone's social station grants them. We are at _war_, such divisions only lead to an enemy's victory."

"The King shall hear about this," said Brandír in disgust. "If not him, then the Steward."

"Lord Faramir knows already, it was he who gave me charge of the city while he is in the Healer's house and his uncle is riding to war. The King himself would not have me gainsaid," replied Dídauar. "The people _will_ be pulled back and you will do everything in your power to help them Sergeant Arodanu!"

"When I retired I held the rank of Captain," retorted Arodanu, inflating like a puffer fish at the perceived insult and completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't actually given Dídauar his name.

"When last I gave you an order, you were a Sergeant," replied Dídauar, having officially run out of patience with the man. "Even then you gave yourself more credit than you deserved. Nay, do not protest about an attempt to besmirch your honour. A high tally of deaths at your hand does not afford you honour, only the stain of their blood on your hands." Arodanu continued to inflate and deflate as Dídauar gathered the maps and varying order missives that had been littering the table before her and turned on her heel, without so much as a curt nod in deference to the man's station.

"A firm husband will teach her some manners and respect," snarled Brandír when he thought Dídauar was out of hearing range. He of course reckoned without her stronger Elven blood and her years spent as a Ranger, both of which allowed for more highly developed senses, hearing being the most acute. She burst out laughing at the comment, the sound loud enough to carry back to the Lords but any rejoining comment she had, she kept to herself. Instead she signalled to the nearest warrior and despatched her order, one that the warrior was only to willing to carry out.


	26. Victory Is Bittersweet

**A/N**  
So sorry this chapter was late (by about three weeks!) Real Life seriously got in the way and when I actually had the time to write, I didn't have the enthusiasm. Anyway, enough excuses, on with the tale...

**Chapter Twenty-Six - Victory Is Bittersweet**

The first indication of something going awry in Mordor was the tremors that shook the earth, strong enough to cause crockery to fall from its shelving in some of the lower houses. The sky to the east had turned pitch black around an hour after noon and it had slowly encroaching on the White City. Around four hours after noon, the sky flashed orange and the ground shook. A second brighter flash followed before what seem like a bolt of fire shot above the peaks of the Ash Mountains. Dídauar ran towards the Eastern battlements just in time to catch sight of a third flash but this time it was electric blue in colour. The flash was immediately followed by a roar, louder than any clap of thunder every heard in Middle-Earth before.

"What does that mean?" asked a nearby guard. "Has Sauron played his final hand?"

"Yes," replied Dídauar with a smile that grew by the minute. "And lost."

"What?" exclaimed the guard.

"We've won!" replied Dídauar excitedly. "After 3000 years we have finally won!" The soldier was still staring when Dídauar sprinted away.

* * *

The Dúnadan Captain crashed through her cousin's door with such force that it ricocheted off the wall and sent the young man toppled backwards on to his bed, immediately cursing as pain shot across his chest. Merry, who had been acting as a crutch, turned equally startled. 

"When you've placed the door back on its hinges, care to tell me what the matter is?" enquired Arahael as he attempted to sit up.

"It's over," said Dídauar simply.

"I noticed," replied Arahael. "Which is good because the earthquakes were doing _nothing_ to aid my balance."

"No. It's _over_!" stressed Dídauar. Merry and Arahael gawked at her.

"The war?" the Man asked.

"Frodo managed his quest?" quizzed Merry. Dídauar nodded and ended up with an armful of Hobbit for her troubles. Using the small creature's momentum, she spun him round before hugging him tightly.

"We won," she said as Merry wrapped his legs around her waist. Her words finally sank into Arahael's mind and the young man fell back on to his bed. Dídauar set Merry back on the ground and sat beside her cousin who had thrown his arms over his eyes and whose shoulders were shaking.

"We won," whispered Arahael. Dídauar chuckled and scooped Arahael up.

"I ride to Cormallen in the morning. Is there anything you wish me to give Tarcil?" asked Dídauar.

"I take it that means I can't come?" smiled Arahael.

"I'm afraid not," replied Dídauar. "The healers are yet to release you from their care. They _have_ however told me that you can venture outside if you want. Faramir and Éowyn will look after you."

"Just tell him to get a move on and get back here," replied Arahael. Dídauar smiled.

"What about me?" asked Merry.

"You would follow me anyway," replied Dídauar. "We ride two hours after dawn."

* * *

It took six days for Dídauar and Merry to reach Cormallen. Despite her protest that she would be fine on her own and that a single rider would be less likely to be a target than a troupe, Faramir had sent a detail of twenty soldiers with her. His argument had been that a single rider was also easy picking for an Orc that was hungry. Dídauar had accepted the detail more for Merry's protection than her own and it really wasn't a good idea to rebel against the one who was technically still your superior. 

"It's like a little village," smiled Merry as the pair crested the hill and was presented with the mass of tents. Dídauar smiled at the analogy and, hugging Merry tightly to her with one arm, kicked her mare into a trot, the downward slope of the hill naturally encouraging the animal to speed up. Her entourage was quickly on her tail but it was obvious that they had been completely forgotten about.

"Look for a banner with stars and a tree," said Dídauar, reigning her horse to a walk.

"Why?"

"Because it means the King is alive," replied Dídauar.

"How does a banner tell you that?" asked Gimli suddenly. Dídauar quickly pulled her horse to a halt, the Dwarf having decided that standing in front of the creature was a good idea.

"Gimli!" exclaimed Merry. Gimli smiled and welcomed Merry's surprisingly tight hug when Dídauar set him on the ground.

"You didn't answer Gimli's question, Dídauar," said Legolas, mirth singing in his voice.

"A King's banner does not fly if he is dead," recited Dídauar. "So where is he?"

"With Frodo and Sam," replied Legolas. "The Great Eagle took Mithrandir to Orodruin to search for their bodies."

"No!" exclaimed Merry. "They are not dead! They can't be dead!"

"They are not dead," assured Legolas. "But they are close to it. Aragorn is with them now."

"Take me to them," ordered Dídauar. "Merry, stay with me. I will not have you out of my sight until I find Pippin."

* * *

Exactly h_ow_ Frodo and Sam had survived Orodruin's eruptions was a complete mystery but frankly no one cared, they were just glad that the War was over and that the little heroes were alive, at least for the moment. It had been five days since the pair had been returned to the camp and while they looked a lot better than when they first arrived – covered in soot, stale sweat, blood, had fur developing on their tongues as a result of dehydration and were startling thin considering the 'good health' they had had at Parth Galen – they remained unconscious and for the most part beyond Aragorn's skill to pull back. 

"Come on Frodo," murmured Aragorn as he once more passed some of his strength into the elder of the Hobbits. "You have past through fire, do not fall at the other side."

A violent sweeping aside of the tent material caught Aragorn's attention, causing him to swing around ready to tear a strip off the intruder. He had given orders that the Hobbits be undisturbed until they had the opportunity to say what guests they received. When he saw who the guest were however his voice died in his throat.

'Kalya!' he choked. Dídauar was straight into her brother's arms, hugging him tightly.

'You're alive,' she whispered. Aragorn gave a weak chuckle.

'Now she has doubts!' he exclaimed. 'Was it not you who told me I would make it through if I kept the ring and the Elessar?'

'You were needing hope and courage,' said Dídauar. 'And while I had not sensed any danger about you, other than the fact you were going to battle, I still had my doubts as to whether I had said goodbye and not farewell.'

'Now you tell me!' said Aragorn.

'How long have you been trying to pull them back?' asked Dídauar, moving out of Aragorn's embrace and casting a glance to both pallets, having sensed from Aragorn's returning embrace that he was at the limit of his endurance,

'Four days,' replied Aragorn. He even _sounded_ exhausted. 'Elrohir tried the first day but insisted that it was my strength that was needed.'

'And your strength is now waning. Where is Pippin?'

'With Imrahil,' sighed Aragorn. 'That Hobbit has been a blessing during the last few days. For all of the men.'

'Have him sent for,' said Dídauar. Aragorn cocked his head. In response, Dídauar jerked her head towards Merry who had made his way to Frodo's side and was cautiously touching the dark-haired Hobbit's hand.

'It was family that brought Éowyn and I back, why not try it again?' she prodded. Aragorn looked at Merry for a few more minutes before sighing.

'It's worth a try,' he said. Dídauar gave him a small smile before ducking back outside to hunt for Pippin.

"Why is he cold?" asked Merry, having finally gathered the courage to grip Frodo's hand completely. "And what happened to his _hand_!?"

"Something bit him," replied Aragorn. "Though quite what it was, only he will be able to tell us. And the wound he received on Weathertop is still not healed completely. Even now, with the poison of Sauron and the Wraiths vanished, it is beyond my skill to heal."

"You will manage," said Merry with such conviction that the weary King almost believed him. "I have yet to see something you cannot do."

"Do not tempt Fate, Merry," chided Aragorn gently. "I am no powerful immortal that has the strength to challenge the gods. All we can do is hope that they will pull through."

"They will," said Merry with determination. Aragorn smiled before setting himself down between the two cots and held out his arms to the Hobbit.

"Lend me your conviction Merry," he said, pulling the Hobbit into his lap and wrapping him in an embrace. "I feel I may need it before the day is over."

* * *

When Dídauar had entered Imrahil's tent, there was what amounted to a scrum of warriors vying with each other to reach her first. In the end it was Éomer, who flung himself at the Dúnadan, causing her to stagger in an attempt to maintain her balance. 

"And good afternoon to you too, Éomer," chuckled Dídauar returning the Rohirric King's crushing embrace. "But do you think you release me a little, I still need to breath!"

Éomer released her looking a little sheepish. Dídauar continued to chuckle, especially as she was then assaulted by Tarcil and Pippin, the Dúnadan colliding with her torso, the Hobbit wrapping his arms firmly about her waist.

"And you two," she said, dotting a kiss to Tarcil' temple as he lay his head on his cousin's shoulder, his arms firmly locked around her neck and shoulders. "But I am afraid the time for pleasantries is not yet upon us. Imrahil do you need Pippin for any immediate task?"

"Not that I can think of," said Imrahil, a boyish smile on his face as he watched the younger warriors faun over their childhood hero. "Why?"

"The King has need of him," said Dídauar. "Tarcil can you please let me go? I will find you at sundown but for now there is something that I must do."

"I will hold you to that," muttered the younger man as he reluctantly released his cousin and Captain. Dídauar inclined her head before crouching before Pippin.

"The King has need of you Master Hobbit," she said. Pippin drew himself to attention at the remark.

"My duty is to Gondor and her King," he said causing Dídauar to gawk at him.

"Éomer?" she asked, not removing her eyes from the Hobbit who seemed to have matured twenty years since last she spoke to him. The fact that he spoke a Rohirric style oath also confused her, considering Pippin was sworn to service in Gondor.

"He overheard Gamling and myself having an argument," admitted the Rohirrim. "Gamling swore the same oath to me just before we rode to battle."

Dídauar nodded, curiosity for the moment satisfied and got to her feet. "Tarcil, make sure Culas is with you tonight," she requested. Tarcil nodded before Dídauar guided Pippin out of the tent and back to the one where Frodo and Sam lay.

* * *

"Merry!" exclaimed Pippin five minutes later as Dídauar ushered him into the healing tent. The raven Hobbit pounced on his cousin, sending them both sprawling across the ground. Merry didn't add a vocal exclamation but his broad smile, and the why in which he held Pippin tightly made it clear that he was delighted to see his cousin. 

"I have the better story to tell," proclaimed the younger Hobbit. "I fought beside Gandalf. Even saved his life once!"

'Here we go again,' chuckled Dídauar, sitting down behind Aragorn, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her chin on his shoulder. 'Estel, when did you last sleep?'

'Can you not think of your own chastisements?' asked Aragorn, tilting his own head back.

'When you think of them, so will I,' replied Dídauar, kissing Aragorn's temple. 'But Lord Elrond's are always the best. Now answer the question.'

'Properly? The night you came to my tent before I rode to battle,' replied Aragorn.

'I am going no where till sundown, you can sleep now,' said Dídauar. 'Use my lap as a pillow and let me guard your dreams.'

Aragorn didn't resist and using his cloak as a blanket, settled on the ground, taking in the calming presence his sister had always offered while listening to Merry and Pippin detail their varying exploits, recalling when they were both together and explaining when they were apart.

'Sleep,' murmured Dídauar, running her fingers through Aragorn's hair.

Come sundown, Merry and Pippin, while no where near out of stories to tell, _were_ beginning to lose their voices and their stomachs were beginning to protest at the lack of filling. Frodo and Sam had yet to wake up but when Elladan appeared to check on both them and Aragorn he reported that they were finally stabilised and would wake as soon as they were ready. He was also relieved to find Aragorn sleeping with both eyes closed and so soundly that the murmured conversation between Elladan and Dídauar did not waken him, nor did the motion of being transfer from Dídauar's arms into Elladan's.

'Tarcil and Culas are demanding where you are,' said the Elf. 'They are by the main fire.'

'Tell him where I've gone?' asked Dídauar, motioning to Aragorn who was sleeping like a babe, head in Elladan's lap.

'Of course,' promised Elladan. Dídauar inclined her head in thanks before collecting the Hobbits and hunting out both food and her kin.

* * *

Dídauar was practically flattened by her Commander and the young healer as she reached the fireside. She was certainly knocked off her feet and on to her back, both young men sprawled across her. 

"Any one would think it has been years since we last met," laughed Dídauar as she wrapped her arms around the pair.

"Can you get off me?" she asked when neither man seemed inclined to move at any time in the foreseeable future. "Boys? Now!"

Tarcil growled at being called a boy and instantly released Dídauar, sitting back on his heels and glaring at her.

"I am twenty-nine! Not even a youth and you call me a boy!" he huffed.

"The way you are acting at the moment, you deserve such a title," replied Dídauar, the smile on her face taking the sting out of her words. It was then that she realised the Culas was shaking in her arms.

"Culas?" she murmured. When the youth only increased his grip around her neck, Dídauar grew concerned and looked up at the elder son of Halbarad in question.

"We lost two others," said the Commander. "And Nemír is badly wounded."

"What?!" hissed Dídauar, surprising herself at the strength with which she forced both herself and Culas into a seating position. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't _Aragorn_ tell me?"

"Aragorn has been occupied with the Hobbits," said Tarcil. "He knows Nemír was taken down, and has seen his injuries, but doesn't know how badly he was wounded. He seemed fine before the Hobbits were returned. Culas has done what he can for his uncle but nothing seems to be working."

"Take me to him," ordered Dídauar.


	27. One Step At A Time

**Chapter Twenty-Seven - One Step At A Time**

Nemír lay prostrate on a cot, Elrohir wiping his forehead with a damp cloth to remove the stale sweat. He was completely still except for the rapid movements of his head from side to side. Dídauar was on her knees immediately.

"How long?" she asked, scooping up Nemír's hand.

"He was taken down by an Orc just after the Tower fell but seemed fine until three nights ago when he complained of being dizzy and nauseous," replied Elrohir. "I gave him some tea to help and the following morning he simply collapsed."

"Let me see his wound." Gently, Elrohir rolled Nemír on to his left side and rucked up the shirt to reveal a tight linen bandage the was wrapped just below Nemír's armpit.

"It's little more than a scratch," said Elrohir as Dídauar sliced through the material.

"A broken arm had Éowyn fighting for her life," replied Dídauar before swearing quite vehemently when Nemír's wound was revealed. The wound was slightly more than a scratch but Nemír had received worse sparring with Culas. It had been when tended by Aragorn and latterly Elrohir, leaving the site itself clean, but from the initial wound spread a web of black.

"It wasn't like that when I changed his bandage," protested Elrohir though exactly who he was defending himself to no one knew.

"Why is it bandaged in the first place?" asked Dídauar.

"He said it was more comfortable," muttered Elrohir, ducking his head to fidget with a loose thread on Nemír's blanket. Dídauar stopped her examination of the wound and canted Elrohir's face back up so that their eyes met.

"Hey," she said gently. "I'm not accusing you of any wrong doing, just asking for details as to what is before me." Elrohir nodded, looking nothing like the fierce warrior that had been his guise for over six hundred years. "It's a slow acting poison, the Haradrim use it to tip their darts."

"But he was caught by an Orc."

"Doesn't alter the fact that Nemír is suffering from a Haradrim poison," said Dídauar. "Culas come over here." Culas looked prepared to balk at the 'suggestion' but Tarcil wrapped his arm about the youth's shoulder and nudged him to Elrohir's side.

"Hold his hand and talk to him," ordered Dídauar before jamming her dagger into the embers of the brazier and ferreting around in Elrohir's pack. "Elrohir, I'm owe you a new shirt."

"Huh?" was the response of the Elf only to be answered by a tearing of fabric.

"I trust you drew the wound," said Dídauar.

"Of course!" exclaimed Elrohir.

"Salt water?"

"Kalya what are you implying?" demanded Elrohir, rounding on his foster-sister.

"Nothing, but it means that I can't use Athelas," replied Dídauar. "It will react with any traces of salt left in the wound and will speed up the rate at which it is spreading."

"Why can't you just reuse the salt?" asked Tarcil.

"Won't draw the poison from his body," explained Dídauar. Culas gave a strangled sob and his grip on Nemír's hand increased.

"Easy little one," murmured Dídauar, abandoning her task. "I know how to remove the poison but it will be a long and hard process. The wound needs reopened and redrawn, and he needs to be encouraged to sweat, which means no rinsing him down with cool water. Elrohir, I need him to drink some tea that will help him sweat as well as numb his pain, how do I do that without waking him?"

"With difficulty," replied Elrohir. "Sit him up, his wound lower than his heart, tip his head back, and you have to massage his throat to stimulate his swallowing reflex otherwise he will gag and choke," replied the Elf.

"Right. Culas, take off your armour and sit behind him," said Dídauar, grabbing a second blanket. "Keep this around your shoulders, it will trap the heat. If _you_ get to warm place the material over Nemír, don't dump it on the ground. Keep the other blanket over his body, regardless of how uncomfortable he gets. He needs to sweat or he will die, understand?"

Culas looked terrified but nodded and quickly did as he was told. Force feeding Nemír the tea and then reopening the wound in his side, Dídauar kept murmuring, seemingly to herself considering most of it was in Sindarin and Rohirric, which had Tarcil confused.

"What is she saying?" he asked of Elrohir, who was sitting in what appeared to be a partial reverie. In truth he was concentrating on the bond that was between the pair, mutely acting as a support for the Dúnadan. He looked up at Tarcil with a small smile.

"She's recounting her childhood and time in Rohan," he said. Tarcil remained confused.

"She sounds happy," he said. Elrohir nodded.

"She does have some happy memories of us," said the Elf. "It's just that they are not always easy for her to find."

"But she can when tending Nemír?!" exclaimed Tarcil.

"I can always find them but they are all linked with a less than pleasant memory," said Dídauar, finally ditching her equipment, the soiled rag being cast into the fire along with her dagger. "I remember frequently roughhousing with Cempa and the numerous celebrations Eadwig dragged me along to, but then I see Eadwig laying in Cempa's arms with a horrific stab wound to his gut or Cempa laying in _my_ arms with Dunlending bolts piercing his chest. I remember the forests and dells of Imladris but I also see Estel falling to protect me when I had a vision mid-ambush.

"Culas, I have done all I can for the moment but it will be a few hours before I know whether it is effective. I know this will be hard on you, but I need you to stay with him. Talk to him, talk to Tarcil, talk to your shadow for all I care, just make sure he hears your voice. He will need it to draw him back."

Culas once more increased his grip and nodded. Dídauar gave him a weak smile and pressed a kiss first to Nemír's forehead then to Culas' crown before leaving the tent as fast as she could without it seeming like she was fleeing. Elrohir on the other hand knew that was exactly what she was doing and hurried after her.

* * *

"Little one?" asked Elrohir, eventually finding Dídauar on the edge of the campsite, pacing and again muttering to herself it what sounded like an attempt to calm herself down. Her eyes were cast upwards to the stars, one appearing to be a main focal point, if the movement of her head was to be any indication.

"So pale," whispered Dídauar. "His star is so pale."

"Whose star?" asked Elrohir.

"Haldir."

"Pardon?"

"Falling figure wrapped in green," recited Dídauar. "Seen them twice but no face. Star that once put many to shame is fading. Fading so quickly and I don't know how to stop it."

"But no face," said Elrohir, hoping to instil some confidence into the Dúnadan. "You may still change the future."

"How?" asked Dídauar, looking lost and begging Elrohir to provide a solution. "I am here and Haldir is in Lothlórien. I cannot leave my people, especially Culas and Tarcil. It has been decades since I was last allowed to seek Haldir in my dreams. _How_ am I to change this?"

"Allow Elladan and I to take a message to Lórien," he suggested. "You and Estel are together once more and are no longer in danger. Our job here is done."

"Would you?" asked Dídauar looking hopeful.

"You have but to ask," smiled Elrohir, capturing one of Dídauar's braids and tucking it behind her ear. "Is there anything you wish to send?"

"Give me an hour," Dídauar said. Elrohir inclined his head.

"I will tell Elladan," said the Elf. "Do not fret my little one, the days of light are upon us once more."

With that Elrohir kissed Dídauar's forehead and turning to hunt his twin. Dídauar on the other hand turned her gaze back to the stars, a feather crystal gripped within her hand, her language switching from Westron, Sindarin to Rohirric and back again.

* * *

Dídauar tended Nemír twice more during the night, wiping away dried sweat with warm water and encouraging him to drink the tea, and on each occasion the young Ranger gained more strength and the webbed lines slowly decreased but remained unconscious. Culas finally allowed himself to sleep around two hours before dawn, though his uncle's hand was firmly held in his grasp and his body curled around Nemír's. The Hobbits too made progress though similar to Nemír, they seemed reluctant to wake. It wasn't until two hours before noon that any of the injured made a move.

"Water?" husked Frodo, causing Aragorn to jerk.

"Frodo?" he asked cautiously. For four days he had hoped and prayed that Frodo wake and was scared to believe the Hobbit was really awake.

"Aye," whispered Frodo, sounding tired. Aragorn released a choked laugh an immediately delved into his travelling pack, digging out his water skin.

"Sip," ordered Aragorn gently holding the lip to Frodo's mouth. The previous liquid was gratefully accepted, Frodo smiling weakly.

"Sam?" he asked eventually, his voice sounding smoother as his throat and tongue were rehydrated. Aragorn cast his glance back to the other Hobbit.

"He's still asleep," said the Ranger. "Frodo, when was that last time he slept through the night?"

"Parth Galen," murmured Frodo. Behind him, Aragorn's eyes widened. The Hobbit's had parted company with the Fellowship nearly two months before.

"After Gollum found us, he barely slept for four hours a night," continued Frodo.

"Gollum?" exclaimed Dídauar as she appeared with Merry and Pippin. Frodo nodded while the two younger Hobbits looked quizzical.

"From Bilbo's tales?" asked Pippin.

"The riddler?" asked Merry. Frodo and Aragorn nodded.

"Was he the one who bit your finger?" asked Dídauar as she made her way to Sam's side. Again Frodo nodded, subconsciously cradling his battered limb to his chest.

"I tried to keep the Ring," he confessed. "I made it all the way to the Mountain and then refused to give it up. Gollum bit it off, taking my finger with him."

"From what I know of the creature that wasn't a self sacrificial act or one done for the greater good," commented Aragorn.

"He wanted it back," said Frodo. "And he did get it back."

"So then how was it destroyed?" asked Pippin, the first to admit he was confused.

"He fell," said Frodo. "He was dancing too close to the edge and fell in."

"So he went from thief to hero," said Dídauar. The others turned to face her, Aragorn wearing a strange look. Frodo nodded once more but the conversation was changed by Pippin who was back to acting like a child and delighted to have an audience.

"Me and Merry _did_ tell you our adventures yesterday but you were asleep. Now that you're awake, we'll tell you again and you have to tell us who has the better story to tell at the Green Dragon," he said, grinning happily as he took centre stage.

"Estel, I'm going to check on Nemír," smiled Dídauar. "I'll send someone with food."

* * *

"Nemír _please_!" Culas was protesting as Dídauar pushed back the tent flap. "Shadow, would you please tell him that he is to stay laying down?"

"Nope," smiled Dídauar. "If he can walk, let him walk. It's his side that was skewered not his leg."

"But…." began Culas, scowling at Nemír as the elder man stuck out his tongue.

"It will get his blood flowing properly, and teach him his limits," said Dídauar. "Besides, sunshine will do him good."

Nemír grinned and began to make his way outside, only to have Culas catch his arm and sling it over his shoulder. Nemír did not look impressed by the move but Culas refused to be shaken off.

"Do I really have to tell father you were uncooperative?" asked the youth. Nemír scowled while Dídauar laughed. Culas' father was Nemír's eldest brother and notorious for being overprotective of his youngest sibling. A trait that apparently Culas had inherited.

"Fireside," directed Dídauar, holding the tent flap up again. "And food," she added as Nemír's stomach gurgled.

* * *

"Shouldn't you still be in the City, what with your brother and temporary Steward being here?" asked Gandalf as he settled beside Dídauar, who was watching her kin – Nemír's strength not nearly as high as he thought – and the younger Hobbits banter back and forth in the same way they had when sojourned at Isengard as she ate her stew. Dídauar canted her head in the direction of the Istari.

"Faramir's _physical_ health is compromised but his mental capacities are sound," she said. "And he knew I was headed out and didn't stop me. If anyone knows the laws of State then it is Faramir. He always did. Even at three he would chastise me for sitting on the _steps_ to the Throne."

"That sounds like Faramir," chuckled Gandalf. "Why is it I never saw you in Gondor during those eight years?"

"You did not arrive as unannounced as Denethor made out," smiled Dídauar. "And with Boromir as my tour guide, I knew the streets of Minas Tirith well enough to hide if you did. Denethor never questioned my aversion to seeing you, though he was usually thoroughly unimpressed that I left him to carry out such meetings alone."

"So will Faerlain return to Gondor or does Shadow remain?" asked the wizard, reaching forward and withdrawing a small stick from the fire so as to light his pipe. Dídauar scowled at the object and moved so that she was downwind from the smoke.

"I don't know," sighed the Dúnadan, turning her attention to the bowl in her lap. "For the moment I am Shadow. What will happen when Estel ascends to the throne, I don't know, though it is doubtful I will settle in Minas Tirith."

"I _knew_ Thranduil was speaking sense when he named you Sadorennor," said Gandalf, chuckling as Merry flopped dramatically sideways and _then_ realise how close to Culas' rocky perch he actually was. Dídauar smiled lightly.

"Words spoken in jest may hold as much truth as those spoken in the councils of the great," she said. Gandalf continued to chuckle.

"May be you should remain in Gondor for a while. You are sounding a lot like your Elven kin," he said. Dídauar grinned before skewering a piece of meat with her dagger.

"That one is from Halbarad," she said before filling her mouth.


	28. Aftermath

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

My Elves were demanding attention again sighs

**Chapter Twenty-Eight - Aftermath**

The next few days were quickly eaten up with celebration and travelling. On the Fields of Cormallen, the men continued to celebrate their victory though each one of them was planning the day that they arrived back in Minas Tirith when they could celebrate with wine and choice cuts rather than water, battle rations and whatever the hunters could find. Frodo and Sam were honoured the night following their awakening, a fact that upset both Hobbits.

"I did nothing but what I was asked," protested Frodo as yet another person bowed to him.

"Not everyone would have made the trip in Orodruin and lived to tell of his adventures," replied Dídauar as she handed both him and Sam a bowl of broth, neither of their stomachs quite ready to attempt the 'soldier's stew'.

"You saved our world Frodo, the praise and homage being shown to you are but shadows compared to what you deserve."

"But, begging your pardon Mistress Dídauar, we're just Hobbits. And the only ones stupid enough to step forward at that Counsel," put in Sam, going more than a little red.

"The only ones _brave_ enough," stressed Dídauar. "And it's either Dídauar or Shadow. I am mistress to no one."

"But your Strider's sister and Gandalf said he's the King!" said Sam, looking to Frodo to confirm what he was saying.

"That does not make me mistress," said Dídauar. "I am a warrior Sam, and have very little time for courts and politics. If you _must_ give me a title, call me Captain. And I'm sure even that title will cause some consternation among the council members."

"When have you _not_ caused problems for those in authority?" grinned Aragorn as he deposited himself beside the trio. The two Hobbits looked scandalised at his comment while Dídauar swiped playfully at her brother's thigh. Sam was the first to jump to her defence.

"You shouldn't go saying such things about your sister. 'Specially when she is a Princess," he said. Dídauar chuckled lightly.

"Sam, it's alright. Estel is just being his usual tormenting self. So, what do we owe the honour of a visit from the King?" she said.

"Don't you start," warned Aragorn. "And since when have I needed a reason to sit beside you at the fireside?"

"You don't, but think of something before anymore of your nobles try to monopolise your time," smiled Dídauar, reaching over and kissing Aragorn's cheek.

"You sound jealous," grinned Aragorn, pulling Dídauar to sit in front of him and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Dídauar smiled gently and twisted herself around so that she was sitting between her brother's calves and Aragorn slid to the ground and wrapped his arms about Dídauar's torso, the younger twin tipping her head back so that it lay on his shoulder.

"No, I am relieved I am not the centre of attention any more," replied Dídauar. Aragorn chuckled.

"Carnir is going to be a problem," he confessed. "He is already telling me of how things are done in Gondor. Should I tell him I'm Thorongil?"

"Do you want more fame or derision?" asked Dídauar.

"It would get them off my back!"

"No, it either would make them more eager to hang around, especially the younger men, or it would led to half your council wondering if you are going to flee without a moments notice. At least this way, you get out of telling the stories and are given a fresh start," replied Dídauar.

"Or I _could_ tell them you are Faerlain," grinned Aragorn. "As much as you protest, you enjoy holding audiences captive with song and tale as much as Merry and Pippin."

"I learnt from the best," replied Dídauar with a returning grin.

"I thought you hated being forced to listen to the minstrels," said Aragorn. Dídauar continued to grin.

"I meant the Shirelings," she said. Sam looked bemused at the comment, while Frodo smiled lightly. In the months leading up to his departure from The Shire, Dídauar had been one of the 'big people' that he had been seen speaking to, though most of the time had been either Halbarad or Herion, and on more than one occasion she had mentioned the entertainment aspect of the Hobbits' nightlife, particularly the tales that sounded beyond the walls of the Green Dragon. Aragorn laughed.

"It is little wonder you have developed such a rapport with Pippin if that's the case," he said, the aforementioned Hobbit being up on his feet and singing something at the fire across the common area between the tents. Dídauar grin lessened into a gentle smile of remembrance.

"I see Boromir in him," said Dídauar. "The bravery, the curiosity, the cunning and that blasted imp that decides to appear at the most inappropriate times."

"And you love him for it," murmured Aragorn, tightening his embrace and kissing the top of her head again. Dídauar nodded, biting her lip to suppress the emotion that was threatening to bubble over.

"'tis good to see that something remains never change," said Sam, sounding far to wise for a Hobbit of his age.

"Sam?" Sam smiled and pointed over to the fire Merry and Pippin had been dancing around only to find Legolas and Gimli on their feet and responsible for entertaining the masses. It appeared that they had been recounting some part of their adventures together but their friendly rivalry and individual differences had seen proceedings descend so that the pair were once again having a trivial argument.

It began as a gently rumble in Frodo's chest but it quickly graduated to light laughter which then mutated to the two Hobbits and the twins sitting laughing at the antics of their friends. For the moment, life appeared to be following the proper path.

* * *

_**Lothlórien**_

It took the twins five days to reach the borders of Lothlórien. They had ridden their horses to the point of exhaustion across Rohan, grateful for the naturally increased stamina of their Elven steeds. Celeblas, the sentry that encountered them at the borders did not question the fact that they had returned before they were scheduled but let them pass and travel unaccompanied and unannounced on to Caras Galadhon. The haunted look in Elrohir's eyes was enough to let the border guard realise that this was not a visit to calm their hearts for a little while. Celeblas could only reach one conclusion. They knew of Haldir's failing and had come to say goodbye.

It took the twins less than an hour to reach the City and were met by Celeborn who looked nearly as haunted as Elrohir. Elladan prayed fervently that they could help Haldir because he simply wouldn't be able to cope with the fallout of the March-Warden's death.

"He is in his talen," said Celeborn. "Rúmil is with him."

"How is he?" asked Elrohir.

"Haldir or Rúmil?"

"Both."

"Haldir is balanced on a knife edge ready to be fall in either direction. Rúmil has yet to allow his own pain to surface. I fear that, unless a miracle occurs, this War will claim the lives of all three brothers not just Orophin," replied Celeborn, his voice, normally controlled and impassive when delivering such devastating news, cracking as he spoke the final words. Elladan noticed and pushed Elrohir in the direction of Haldir's talen.

"Go. I will stay with Grandfather while you talk to Haldir and Rúmil," he instructed. Elrohir looked at him wide eyed. Elladan wasn't coming with him?

"I will find you later. For now, it is a link to Kalya that Haldir needs. I cannot give him that," said Elladan.

"But……"

"Elrohir, she is tied to _you_ not me. For what rhyme or reason of the Valar I dare not guess, but you know more acutely how Kalya fares. _That_ is what Haldir needs, not some report that she was alive five days ago," argued Elladan. "I will find you later, but for now my place is here."

"Alright," murmured Elrohir before bowing sharply to Celeborn and all but sprinting to Haldir's talen.

* * *

"Rúmil?" said Elrohir gently, touching the dozing Elf's shoulder as he arrived. Rúmil jerked violently and spun round to face Elrohir, quickly moving to salute the younger of his Lady's grandsons, only to find Elrohir holding his hands to prevent the action.

"No," whispered Elrohir. "Now is not the time to show me such respect."

"Why are you here?" asked Rúmil fearfully. "Please. Don't tell me……Elrohir, it will kill him!"

"And you will follow," said Elrohir. "But I do not come bearing such ill tidings." Rúmil canted his head looking like a curious kitten but at the same time his eyes shone like those of a rabbit caught in the hunter's lamp.

"First of all, the war is over. The Halfling succeeded in his quest and Sauron is destroyed. Second, I held Kalya in my arms but five days ago just before I left to ride here. This letter was penned by her but hours before my departure. And her soul continues to sing in harmony with mine," explained Elrohir, reaching into his jerkin and retrieving a thick square of parchment.

"She knows?" asked Rúmil. "But why is she not here herself if she has such knowledge?"

"Her own people need her," began Elrohir only to be cut off by a furious Rúmil.

"Haldir needs her _more_!" he snapped, his voice rising higher than it had in weeks. "It is _Haldir_ that is laying inches from death, because of her, but instead she chooses to stay with the ones whom she has spent most of her life running and hiding from?!"

"Halbarad is dead!" retorted Elrohir, grabbing Rúmil's collar and dragging him outside. "Arahael was badly wounded at Pelennor and Nemír was taken down during the last Battle. They are only now beginning to regain their strength. Eight others that followed her to Rohan and Gondor died in battles that should not have been theirs to fight! Tarcil and Culas do not have the strength to worry about their people, themselves _and_ their fallen kin without some form of help. Estel may be their Chief but Kalya is the one they look to for unconditional support. That is why Kalya is still _alive_!"

"What?"

"Her kin are the only reason Kalya does not yet reside in the Eternal Halls!" ranted Elrohir. "She tried to give up. After Pelennor, she collapsed with exhaustion and wounded herself further. Poisoned by Orc venom and the malice of the voices in the darkness, Kalya tried to give up her soul, unable to see a reason to live. Three of her 'children' were dead, as were friends and protectors of old, another three were reaching out to knock at the door to the Eternal Halls, Orophin had been slain to protect ones that didn't know his name and even Haldir's star was beginning to fade from the skies. She had been forced to watch helplessly as her world was shattered around her and it took nearly all of Estel's strength to keep her here. Even I failed to achieve a reaction from her near the end. Only through the will of the Valar was she pushed firmly back to our world."

"That does not explain why you are here and she is not," said Rúmil, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Because I am the one who can be spared!" snapped back Elrohir. "Haldir needs a link with his charge that is not surrounded by fear and darkness and other than Kalya herself, I am the best option. Unless you think Haldir will survive the journey to Gondor?"

"Does he _look_ like he could survive it?" demanded Rúmil, pointing back to his prone brother who was murmuring again, a deep frown creasing his forehead. Elrohir's healer instincts kicked in immediately upon witnessing Haldir jerk violently, legs kicking out and head twisting sharply away as though evading an enemy. The raven-haired Elf dropped to his knees beside Haldir's bed and grasped his hand tightly.

"Haldir hear me," begged the younger Elf, reaching up to smooth Haldir's forehead. Haldir murmured something incoherent though he was plainly distressed.

"Haldir!" barked Elrohir. "You will listen to me. You _must_ fight the tide that is pulling you under. The war is over. Your people are safe once more. Kalya is alive and well but she wont be if you fail."

"Nothing left……" whispered Haldir with a laboured breath, obviously not having heard a word Elrohir had said.

"No!" exclaimed Elrohir. "No Haldir. Remember you told me a story just before Naneth had left? You told me that every tunnel had an entrance and an exit. Even the darkest ones had to end at some point and that we would find ourselves in the daylight once more. We've reached that light Haldir. Kalya is alive and is waiting for you in Gondor."

"She is calling……" murmured Haldir.

"Yes. She is calling you home," said Elrohir, pressing Haldir's hand to his heart and placing his own over that of the silver-Elf.

"Feel Haldir," he murmured, concentrating on Kalya. Normally the bond between the two was not tangible, only making itself known when one or other of the twins was in distress and unable to cope alone, but this time Elrohir could feel the connection and he focus narrowed so that he was only concentrating on his foster-sister and her Guardian. "Feel her Haldir. See her, hear her, return to her."

* * *

_**Minas Tirith**_

Dídauar had returned to her habit of pacing the battlements. The troops that had fought at the Black Gate had been welcomed back earlier that day as heroes, and rightly so, and Aragorn was immediately set up in the King's residence. Arahael had persuaded the warden of the Houses of Healing that he was fit enough to greet his kinsmen as they returned and Tarcil was overjoyed to see his brother back on his feet. The Dúnedain had been housed with their chief, but Dídauar was uncomfortable in the House and the nobility that went with it. The nomadic sprite that made up her soul made it impossible for her to settle in such definitive role. She was more than willing to accept the role as Aragorn's heir, she was after all his only other living relative and was already a leader with their people, but to be confined within the cold stone and marble of Minas Tirith was the same as a prison sentence.

"You do not have to stay," said Aragorn as he appeared beside her.

"You wish me gone?" asked Dídauar, not turning around.

"I wish you happy," replied Aragorn, moving to embrace her from behind. "You know the reason you are called Faerlain. Even as Dídauar, you are not meant for a city of stone."

"I am happy at your side," said Dídauar, turning around and completed the embrace. Aragorn smiled gently and brushed away the braid that had fallen across her face, noting that it was once more one of Arwen's designs.

"I told you before, I do not have to be sage or Elf to know that something is bothering you," said Aragorn. "You would be happy here for a week, a month, maybe even a season, but eventually the wild would call to you again. Do not tie yourself to Minas Tirith and to me in such a way."

"I could always run free in Ithilien," said Dídauar. "It would not be a toil to remain at your side."

"I cannot ask you to put me before your own happiness. You've put the needs of others before yourself for so long, is it not time for you to put your own needs first?"

"You're my brother! I cannot be happy if I see you suffering," said Dídauar. "But I will not make my choice yet. So many things have changed within the past few weeks, maybe my spirit will also be tempered."

"Promise me you will make it for yourself and not for me," said Aragorn. Dídauar nodded.

"I promise," she said. Aragorn smiled and kissed her forehead before encouraging her to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Follow your heart, little one. I will always hold a door open for you to return, and you will always be in my heart," he whispered.


	29. One Last Battle

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**

HUGE detour from book and movie canon. And I mean HUGE.

Haldir's and Dídauar's relationship is **_strictly_** platonic, despite how it seems.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine - One Last Battle**

"We won Halbarad," murmured Dídauar, taking hold of the elder man's hand. It was three days after the triumphant return to Minas Tirith and Dídauar had gathered enough courage to enter the great hall of the Citadel where the honoured dead were still being displayed. She had taken with her a small bunch of white Simblemynë and bright, yet gently tones Hibiscus blossoms and placed one of each flower on the pedestals of each of the fallen, the Simblemynë to say that they and their sacrifice would never be forgotten and the Hibiscus to wish peace and happiness on the souls of the dead. She had placed flowers at the feet of the Steward's chair in remembrance of Denethor, the once proud man now nothing but a puff of ash and dust on the wind. There would be no tomb for the 26th Steward of Gondor, just a cool marble statue that was created for each of the Stewards and Kings.

Now Dídauar stood beside the body of her cousin, friend and champion, hands empty and tears filling her eyes as pain stabbed at her heart. Outside, pyres were already being constructed to receive the fallen Dúnedain, as was their custom to cast their ashes to the prevailing east wind, their one chance of reaching the fabled Undying Lands of Valinor. Precisely where the clothing had come from, Dídauar didn't know, nor had she the desire to go hunting for the one who had bestowed the honour upon her cousin, but the late Commander of the Dúnedain Rangers was dressed in a pair of liquorice black leggings and a deep green shirt. His feet were encased in a pair of soft leather boots and his hair, which had been washed of the dust and grime of travel and battle, was lying loose about his shoulders. His eyes were closed, his face so relaxed that Dídauar was almost convinced that he was simply sleeping and his arms were crossed over his chest, his well worn sword polished and sharpened and resting in his hands. Dídauar kissed the hand she held before resting it back on his chest and leaning over to kiss the cold forehead.

"Be at peace, my friend. Long ago did you earn it," she whispered.

"And long have you earned rest but will you allow yourself to take it?" asked a gentle voice behind her. Turning, Dídauar found herself face to face with Imrahil.

"My Lord," she said, bowing to the Belfalas Prince. Imrahil saluted her in turn in the way reserved for greeting those of noble blood rather than a military Captain. "What have I done that deserves such salutation?"

"You are the heir," replied Imrahil as though that explained everything.

"I am gypsy, my Lord," rebuffed Dídauar. "The fact that the King and I share the same blood does not make me heir to his Throne."

"No, but his pronunciation upon the Fields of Cormallen does," smiled Imrahil. "Change maybe difficult my Lady, but change we must lest we be left standing as an island in the raging sea."

"Sometimes islands are more appealing," remarked Dídauar. "And I preferred it when you called me Captain and I was the one saluting in deference to your station."

"You did not answer my question," prodded Imrahil.

"Until my task is complete, I can take no rest," said Dídauar as she turned to leave the chamber.

"Task? My Lady you are no longer required to guard the Citadel, or the Steward, as you did the last time you dwelt in Gondor," protested Imrahil as he followed her.

"I do not speak of raising weapons once more," said Dídauar. "But not all are yet safe from the evil spread by this war."

"I must admit to being confused," said Imrahil. "I used to think Denethor and Mithrandir spoke in riddles but it is plain they learnt to ply their craft from _you_!"

"A shadow still creeps among the Elves," replied Dídauar. "And I don't know how to stop it."

"I take it, this is where I have to become the voice of reason?" enquired a musical voice from behind them. Dídauar spun around to find a tall, well-built, golden-haired Elf, who was dressed in well travelled clothes and an ornate knife hilt could be seen at his left hip, looking more like a gypsy than Dídauar yet a lot less spirited, standing before them, looking mildly amused. Dídauar would have mistaken him for Glorfindel if it were not for her long friendship with the Seneschal of Imladris. Said Elf and the Elf that stood before her know however _were_ kin, so such mistakes would have been allowed and then politely corrected.

"Lord Gildor?" asked Dídauar, canting her head in question. Gildor bowed in greeting.

"Mae govannen, hên vuin o Imladris a Lothlórien. When last I saw you, you were barely tall enough to reach my waist," smiled Gildor. _(Well met, beloved child of Imladris and Lothlórien)_

"And I don't yet reach your shoulder," bemoaned Dídauar returning a non-verbal Elvish greeting with consummate ease. "But what brings you to Gondor, and Minas Tirith?"

"Your victory," said Gildor. "And a little creature that I chanced upon just over six months ago."

"_You're_ the Elf Sam twitters on about?" asked Dídauar. "He hasn't stopped waxing lyrical about the night you spent in each other's company."

"And yet he was surprisingly shy that night," remembered Gildor. "Not at all like his master."

"Frodo had Bilbo for an uncle," replied Dídauar. "But I am forgetting my manners. Gildor, may I introduce Prince Imrahil of Dol Amoroth. Imrahil, this is Gildor Inglorion, Lord of the House of Finrod."

The two lords greeted each other in the way of their respective peoples before Gildor turned back to Dídauar.

"Far be it from me to split you and your brother apart once more, but this is not your place. At least not yet," said Gildor. Imrahil protested, loudly.

"She is our Princess! If she belongs anywhere it is in Gondor and Minas Tirith until the country is at least _starting_ to get back on its feet."

"Any wild animal fettered by the whims and desires of others dies long before it's due," said Gildor, a steely note entering his otherwise lyrical voice.

"My Lords, please!" exclaimed Dídauar. "I am not a toy which to be fought over. Gildor, if I am not needed here, where is it I should be headed?"

"A figure falling, wrapped in silver green," replied Gildor. Dídauar's breathing hitched. "A fading star that once put so many to shame."

"What do you know?" demanded Dídauar.

"That you have little time, but time you still have," replied Gildor. "Do not squander it on dallying here ere long if your heart is not yet settled."

"How long?"

"Not even the wise can tell you that. But you have time enough to change but tally but a little and it will be in vain," replied Gildor. Dídauar tried to read the expression in Gildor's eyes but other than the serious glint that emphasised what he said, there was nothing but the spark of merry-making that seemed to hold permanent residence in the wandering Elf's eye.

"Where is your horse?" asked Gildor.

"Running the fields," replied Dídauar. "Chestnut with a front left sock."

"Go and speak with your brother and trust me to get her ready," said Gildor. Dídauar nodded and after offering a brief salute to both Elf and Prince, sprinted back to the Citadel. Gildor offered his own salute to Imrahil before making his way swiftly to the stables and then the Plains, Dídauar's mare already in his sight.

* * *

_**Caras Galadhon, six days later**_

"Is there still no change?" asked Celeborn as he sat beside Haldir's bed, carefully moving the sleeping Rúmil so that the younger Elf rested against him rather than slouched in the wooden seat.

"Aside from his ramblings becoming more desperate, no," replied Elrohir, resting back on his heels. "I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?" asked Celeborn, gently carding his fingers through Rúmil's silver-blond tresses as the warden jerked restlessly.

"Why Haldir is choosing to give up," said Elrohir. "Surely he knows that is the surest way for Kalya to wind up dead."

"Haldir is not thinking anymore," said Celeborn. "No Elf chooses to fade. If it gets to the stage where they lose all will to live then their mind is no longer in control."

"Elladan said it was my connection to Kalya that Haldir needed but not even that seems to be helping!"

"How tangible is your bond?" asked Celeborn.

"To Kalya? Enough that I can grasp it willingly and keep a hold rather than have emotional upheaval dictate when and where it makes itself known," replied Elrohir.

"But is it strong enough for you to know fully whether you are showing Haldir Kalya's _current_ state of mind or are you showing him memories of the Kalya you left behind?" prodded Celeborn. "If it is the latter, Haldir will not heal."

"But Kalya will not leave her people," said Elrohir, clearly becoming distressed.

"That was almost a fortnight ago," said Dídauar as she arrived at the talen. The two conscious Elves whipped round while both Rúmil murmured and Haldir jerked. "Estel has returned to Minas Tirith and the injured are all but recovered. I do need not worry about them for the moment."

"You better not be a dream," muttered Rúmil waking up.

"No dream Rúmil," smiled Dídauar gently as she knelt beside Haldir. "How far gone is he?"

"Almost to the point of no return," said Elrohir. Dídauar reached up and fingered a limp strand of Haldir's silver hair that had once rivalled the Mithril chains that were twisted within her own raven braids.

"What am I to do with you Haldir?" she whispered. "You knew I was mortal when you agreed to be my Guardian."

"That will _not_ help him!" protested Rúmil angrily. Elrohir glared at him.

"Direct your anger at a target or an Orc but don't you dare raise it against Kalya," warned the half-Elf, bristling.

"Leave us," murmured Dídauar, most of her attention fixed on Haldir but enough was focused on her surroundings to know that additional bickering between the two Elf warriors was not going to be beneficial. Grumbling, mostly at each other, Elrohir and Rúmil moved out of the talen, while Celeborn lingered.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

"Stay," was the simple reply. Celeborn retook his seat while Dídauar striped off her weapons and riding leathers before curling herself around Haldir's icy body.

"Lasto beth nin, Haldir," whispered Dídauar, burying her face in Haldir's shoulder. "The War is won. Come away from the shadows, they offer you no peace. Tolo dan, mellon-nîn. Tolo dan nan galad. _(Hear my voice, Haldir) (Come back, my friend. Come back to the light)_

* * *

For two nights and three days Dídauar lay curled around her failing Guardian. She refused to sleep but spoke softly to the unconscious Elf, murmuring in Sindarin, Westron and Rohirric, the same way she had done while tending Nemír on the Fields of Cormallen. She told of her childhood, of her delight at having the brave March Warden chosen to be her Guardian, of her first Yuletide in Lothlórien which wasn't supposed to happen but the winter snows had come sooner than planned and both sets of twins had been caught in the Golden Wood for the festival, of playing practical jokes on the Imladris household staff, mainly with Glorfindel there to scoop her out of trouble if she was caught. Of learning to shoot and fight with knife and sword, of learning to ride and her fear that Asfaloth was just a little to big for her to ride at ten so Erestor had offered to teach her on Daeroch, the pitch stallion being slightly smaller and gentler in temperament than Glorfindel's grey war horse. About how happy she felt when she remembered Haldir's proud smile when she showed him all her Imladrian tutors had taught her in the six years they had been separated. She spoke of her travels in Rohan, though Haldir had more than likely heard them all before, on more than one occasion, told of Eadwig and Cempa, the two Rohirric guards that had seemed to foster and champion her from the moment she had arrived in the realm of the Horse-lords, of Théoden, recalling fond memories of the child Prince and the adult King, of Théodred, the motherless boy who never wanted for a mother's love. She told of Gondor, and of the late Stewards. Of how Ecthelion actually pushed her towards Denethor rather than forcing her to back off, only to realise his mistake a few months later. About the antics Boromir got up to around the _entire_ city, not at all fussed that his fancy clothing wasn't really suited for roughhousing in the dirt of the lower levels – all the child had wanted was playmates. She told of Faramir, the small babe who was so sickly during his first year that the family was preparing to bury him before he reached his first Birth Day. She recalled proudly how Faramir continued to prove his parents wrong every day that he lived and remembered the pride in their eyes as they watched him do it, the light shining no more brighter than in Boromir's eyes, and how that small of life was now the Steward of Gondor. She told of her own kin, the Dúnedain of the North, of Halbarad, who refused to turn his back on her, regardless of the stupid, and somewhat selfish, actions she carried out over the years, of how he stubbornly refused to lose sight of the spark of innocence that marked Dídauar's soul, regardless of the blood, deaths and darkness that she was convinced had wiped it clean out of existence. She told of Tarcil and Arahael, how they had been born long after everyone believed Halbarad past the age of fathering a child, of Nemír and Culas, the infants of her people. She detailed the mishaps that each had had as children, including the rather frightening experience where Arahael had become lost in the countryside surrounding the Stronghold when he was a toddler. Arahael of course had felt this a huge adventure and was grinning like a cat who had swallowed the canary Elrohir and Elladan had returned him, along with the half dozen boar they had killed while out on patrol. She spoke of the Hobbits, both the ones that had been left behind in the Shire, most of whom were completely oblivious to the battles that were being fought to keep them safe, to the four that was ensconced in Minas Tirith, one on duty, two healing and the fourth grieving for his King. 

"How does she have any voice left?" whispered Elladan to Celeborn on the third evening. The Elf-Lord was the only one Dídauar would permit to stay in the room for longer than a few minutes, the Lord of the Golden Wood knowing not to direct or do anything other than offer silent support and comfort. Dídauar knew it would be pointless to bar everyone from the room, Haldir maybe be a firm task master and a difficult Elf to please, but he was loved and greatly missed throughout the Wood, not least by his men, it was only natural that people be worried and that they would wish to see their ailing leader, especially if it was to say goodbye. The twins and Rúmil were the only ones who dared speak when in the room, all others acting as though the death knell was sounding over Haldir's head.

"Sheer determination of will," replied Celeborn. "I only hope it will not be in vain."

"No," whispered Haldir so quietly and with a voice so scratchy that everyone thought they had imagined it. Dídauar immediately propped herself up on her elbow and rested her other hand on the bed so she was partially covering Haldir's chest. The Elf still lay with his eyes closed and if she was perfectly honest, Dídauar was convinced that she was hearing things.

"Haldir? Haldir please, open your eyes if you can hear me," begged Dídauar. A small smile tugged at the corners of Haldir's lips.

"I said that……to you when……you fell into……the Nimrodel," he breathed. "You were thirty……and had slipped in……where the current was……strongest."

"If I'm going to do something, I might as well do it properly," grinned Dídauar, sounding more than a little hoarse. "You taught me that, now open your eyes!"

"Not dream?" whispered Haldir sounding like a hopeful child as he cracked open his eyes before immediately screwing them shut as the dying sunlight hit them.

"Do I feel like a dream?" asked Dídauar, running the back of her fingers across Haldir's sallow cheek. "Does this feel like a dream?" as she pressed a kiss to Haldir's forehead.

"No," murmured Haldir, risking opening his eyes once more.

Pulling back Dídauar considered her Guardian who was still looking very ill. His skin was clammy and overly pale while his eyes were sunken and his hair limp and dull. Small shivers had begun to wrack his system as his body became alive to sensation of temperature once more and realised that he was dangerously cold. What she needed to do was make Haldir feel and a simple massage was not going to be the answer, regardless of how much Cayenne salve she applied to his skin. Not bothering about the social faux pas she was about to commit, in front of her brother and Grandfather, Dídauar blew gently across the tip of Haldir's ears. Haldir gasped at the sudden invasion of sensation to his system and arched beneath his charge. He was to ill and his body to tired to react properly to the caress – the tips of Elven ears were so sensitive that stimulation normally led to arousal and were therefore left to the ministration of a lover – but the heat that shot through his system was enough that Haldir was left breathless.

"What……" he managed to gasp.

"You need to warm up. This is the fastest way," replied Dídauar. "Unless you would rather someone else do this?"

"No," gasped Haldir. "But you know that……"

"I know what I'm doing Haldir," smiled Dídauar before blowing across the second ear-tip. Again Haldir arched beneath her and fell back to the bed panting and staring at his charge with the look more commonly associated with a fish out of water. Satisfied, Dídauar pulled back and settled on her side, wrapping both arms around Haldir's frighteningly diminished waist and held him close. Haldir, while his body refused to acknowledge most commands to move, twisted his head until it was resting against Dídauar's shoulder and fell asleep once more.

"Find Rúmil," Dídauar said to Elladan before finally joining Haldir in his rest.


	30. Not Every Wound Leaves A Visible Scar

**Chapter Thirty - Not Every Wound Leaves A Visible Scar**

Dídauar remained in Lothlórien for another two weeks. This meant that she missed Aragorn's coronation, something that the elder twin was a little miffed about, and the council were quite vocal in their dissatisfaction, but she promised to be for his wedding. Word had been sent to Lothlórien that Arwen and Elrond had set out from Rivendell on the first of May and that they planned to arrive in Lothlórien later that month. With each day Haldir made steady progress in his recovery, though he still tired quickly and his muscles were frustratingly weakened by malnourishment and the weeks he spent abed. Unfortunately his mental recovery was not as speedy as his physical one. He refused to let Dídauar out of his sight and if she did have to leave – it wasn't really practical for her to stay in the warden's talen for the entire duration of her stay and with her there, Rúmil received very little of Haldir's attention – he insisted on knowing where she went. Elladan and Elrohir lingered to monitor Haldir's physical condition, not that they didn't trust their Grandmother's healers but they just felt more comfortable seeing his progress first hand. Haldir, who never had much time for healers, was as ingratiating with them as he was with his own people so the Lothlórien healers were more than happy to hand over the responsibility to the twins, however temporary. The twins also made sure that Rúmil was beginning to recover from the shock he had suffered, both from the close call he had had with Haldir and the slaughter of his spirit-twin. Unfortunately, there wasn't much that they could do other than make sure _he_ didn't start to fade. Haldir was the one who had the biggest task in healing the younger Warden.

Come mid May however, Dídauar felt the need to return to her people. It was also then that the full realisation that ten of those she had called her people, along with Orophin, Théoden, Théodred, Háma, Boromir and Denethor, were dead and it hit her harder than even she expected. Realising that her depressed mood would only delay the recovery of both Rúmil and Haldir, Dídauar made her excuses and fled to elsewhere in the woods.

"I am going to _kill_ her!" exclaimed Haldir when he learnt from the sentries that Dídauar had not returned to City at nightfall.

"And then this whole cycle will start again and we _will_ lose you this time," said Rúmil, pushing Haldir back into his seat.

"The war might be won but the Woods are not safe!" exclaimed Haldir. Rúmil knelt before his brother and cupped his face.

"Haldir, you are panicking. Kalya is not the eight-year-old she was the first time she was in these woods, she is a very capable warrior and never lets her guard low enough that she is taken completely by surprise. Elrohir has not come charging in here in some mad panic either so it is safe to assume that she is still alive and other than the fact she is finally grieving for those she has lost, is in no other danger."

"Why can she not come to me?" asked Haldir, looking pleadingly at Rúmil. "What did I do that she feels she cannot ask me for support?"

"What did the twins do, what did Celeborn or Galadriel do, what have any of us done that she feels she cannot come to us?" expanded Rúmil. "We loved her Haldir. We encouraged her to follow the path her heart was telling her to take rather than accept the position that her people were pestering her to fill. She did Haldir, she became that warrior, and a hero to many people, whether she meant to or not. But how many children's stories have you heard where the hero breaks down? When is it told that the hero is just like the rest of us when it comes to emotions? How many heroes are said to have grieved for others, including the ones they slay?"

"What's your point Rúmil?" demanded Haldir.

"The answer is none, Haldir. Never once has a hero been portrayed as anything but a messenger from the Gods or an avenging angel, ready to do battle in the name of the light. When I first saw Glorfindel do anything other than his duty and make merry, I was at a complete loss as to what to do. So was everyone else around us, except Erestor. Even Lord Elrond was confused. There are very few who know how to deal with a broken hero. Kalya cannot turn to any of the men because they know her reputation but not her and will cause more harm than good, she _will_ not turn to _us_ because you are still healing. Her grief is a little to personal for her to take to the Lady and as a result she will not go to Celeborn either. The twins? They aren't exactly fonts of wisdom on this subject. Their way of coping with loss or grief has never been to simply curl up into a corner, shut out the world and weep, it was always lash out at the nearest person or thing and damn the consequences."

"So how are we to help her?" asked Haldir. "The trees will hide her, they've done it before."

"A child in distress will seek a mother's comfort," said Rúmil. Haldir canted his head. Gilraen had been dead for nearly twenty years and her memorial stone was on the other side of the mountains. Neither the sentries nor the trees had reported Dídauar crossing the border, or even seeking them, so the elder Warden was fairly convinced that Dídauar was not seeking out the late Lady of the Dúnedain.

"Who…….Celebrían? But why? And _how_?"

"The same way you seek out our mother," replied Rúmil. "And Celebrían is wife to Lord Elrond, who Kalya sees as a father, why should she not seek a mother's succour in Celebrían's embrace?"

"Because she never knew her!" exclaimed Haldir.

"Which is what Kalya needs," said Elrohir quietly as he arrived with Celeborn. "Someone to speak to who does not know her and is therefore unable to hold her to account."

"_We_ will not judge her!" exclaimed Haldir. Elrohir looked at him sadly.

"We do," he said. "We may look at the sister and Charge. We may hold the daughter, but we _speak_ to the warrior and accidental hero. It is not physical contact she desires, it is spiritual release."

"I can't just sit here!" protested Haldir. Elrohir canted his head towards Celeborn who in turn looked at Haldir, almost like he was considering a vase at a market stall. Haldir shifted a little under the scrutiny but held his Lord's gaze.

"He is strong enough to try," said Elrohir softly.

"Try what?" asked Rúmil sharply.

"Opening his bond with Kalya," said Celeborn. "It is also strong enough."

"What?" Haldir looked a little confused, which was not an expression often found on the warden's face.

"I will find Elladan," said Elrohir before ducking back out the room while Celeborn stepped up to Haldir and pulled him to his feet. Haldir wavered a little and held on to Celeborn's shoulders with both hands as his body protested at the sharp movements.

"Celeborn what are you talking about? I can't open my bond with Kalya, it's not formed like that!" protested Haldir.

"It is, but as most are formed between two Elves it is an effortless task to open the bond. Between an Elf and Human however, a little more effort needs to be exerted," replied Celeborn.

"Why was I not told this before?"

"No need. The last time Kalya needed this release, you were already at her side," said Celeborn. "You were healthy and Kalya was subconsciously seeking comfort from you. This time however, you are not as strong and Kalya is retreating so you can heal. She will not come to you this way."

"And Elladan?"

"Has more experience opening the bond between mortal and Elf. He will be better able to guide you," replied Celeborn as he helped Haldir sit on the floor of the talen.

"Isn't this a little contradictory to what Elrohir just said about Kalya's needs?" asked Rúmil. Celeborn smiled over at the younger Elf as the twins reappeared.

"His spirit has no choice but to approach as her Guardian rather than Lothlórien's March-Warden," said the Elf Lord. "Love will always dominate duty in his heart and soul."

* * *

Dídauar sat in the middle of a glade which was blooming with flowers of practically every colour imaginable. When the twins were sixteen, Elrond had taken them both to the glade in order to teach them about the varying plants that grew there, some of which were medicinal, some which could be used in the diet, other which were toxic if ingested and others which only of an aesthetic value. She sat creating a daisy chain, sporadically introducing a bluebell or a dandelion, smiling slightly as she remembered Lindir and Melpomaen teaching her the skill, the pair being the only ones who could actually get her to sit still long enough to split the stem, thread through the stem of another and start the whole thing again. When she was about four, her mother had woven some of the chains, along with some stalks of late shorn barley through her hair for the harvest festival. The young Estel had found it hilarious that his twin, who was so boisterous and as unladylike as you could possibly get, even when compared to their mother, was dressed up the a lady of the court but then he had had the unfortunate luck of finding out exactly how useful wearing a dress was, namely hiding one's feet as they trod on those belong to another. Tears began to fill her eyes as she remembered Théoden receiving the same treatment from his younger sisters. Théodwyn had been particularly sneaky, so much so that Thengel had been convinced his Captain was the one who had taught his youngest daughter the trick. Théoden wasn't so much interested with the who, more as to how he avoid the treatment!

Now that the first memory had been allowed to slip through the strong barrier Dídauar was keeping around her heart and mind, others started to trickle through until the trickles became a deluge, and the tears that Dídauar had been holding back for what seemed like weeks streamed down her face, her body heaving with each sob. Memories of Boromir, Théodred, Halbarad and Orophin assaulted her the strongest and guilt and anger twisted with grief. She had foreseen the deaths of the three mortals and yet the Valar had only being taunting her. There was no way she could have saved any of them, even if she was at their side. All three were honourable, loyal and dedicated warriors. The result was they were incredible stubborn and their own safety took second place to that of others, not even the Valar had been able to change that. And Orophin? He was an Elf, he shouldn't have been at the battle of Helms' Deep in the first place, much less have lain down his life for the people of Rohan who would forget him. Not intentionally, they had lost so many, including their King and Prince, Orophin was just another causality of war whose name would soon be lost to the sands of time.

_There is much hurt here little one,_ whispered a voice as a gentle breeze tossed loose strands of her hair. Dídauar stiffened, her tears seeming to dry almost immediately at being caught in such a compromised position and her emotional guards raised once more.

"Who's there?" she demanded, looking around her and her hand reaching for the solitary blade she had brought with her. "Show yourself!"

_I have no form in your world, at least none that you can perceive, _replied the voice. _I mean you no harm little one, I seek only to heal your pain._

"Unless you can return those that the Valar have stolen, you cannot help me," replied Dídauar. "Leave me to my grief and my memories."

_You sought me little one, _said the voice gently. _And the Valar to not take unless it is deemed in song of Ilúvatar._ _You are a perfect example of that._

"Then why did they show me? Why did they taunt me with images of those they have stolen, giving me hope that their future could be changed yet leave me powerless to help?" demanded Dídauar. "What exactly did I do wrong to have my family stolen from me piece by piece but be offered no peace in return? I should have died at Pelennor but instead Námo sent me back so that I can watch my cousins and my friends suffer with pain that I was supposedly given the opportunity to prevent."

_You hide behind anger,_ said the voice and Dídauar was convinced that it was more than the wind that was playing with her hair. _But that will fester little one. You have seen what that does, _felt_ what that it like. It did not help you after your champion was killed and it will not help you now._

"Why was I shown!?" demanded Dídauar.

_Because there was a chance that they could have been saved, but you were dealing with warriors who gladly gave their last breath to protect the weak. Halbarad told you this, your young Steward and the King of Rohan would tell you the same, as would the fallen Prince. The Captain-General told you he knew his fate when he left the protection of this Wood yet still he set forth. You carried out the task that the Valar intended and even now they are within the Eternal Halls, waiting patiently for their loved ones to arrive as are your family in this world,_ explained the voice, never once raising in insult or anger at the slight upon the Valar. Dídauar tucked herself into a ball, knees clasped firmly to her chest as she began rocking in a gesture meant for personal comfort, tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

_Your champion saw two people in his dream, Aurél,_ whispered the voice speaking the name that would soon be crossing the lips of the Gondorians, spoken with reverence and pride, while the wind danced across Dídauar's cheeks and catching the tears that had started to flow.

"Please," whispered Dídauar, burying her face in her arms and her shoulder's began shaking in earnest.

_She is ready, my son,_ whispered Celebrían as her voice faded from Dídauar's range of hearing. Pressing a kiss to the Dúnadan's crown, she let her place be taken by two figures. One of raven and hazel-green, the other of silver and violet-blue. _Take care of her._

* * *

_**Minas Tirith**_

Aragorn was restless. In celebration of the return of Gondor's King after so many centuries, the nobles found more than enough reason to celebrate, even if the people could barely afford it yet even they were seldom seen without a smile. But, even as his people celebrated and looked forward to the next sunrise with joyful anticipation rather than fear, Aragorn could not find it in himself to join in their cheer, and took up his twin's habit of pacing the battlements come dusk and dawn, gaze always turned to the west.

"You are going to wear that shelf away, my friend," said Legolas as he approached the man. Aragorn stalled mid stride and turned to face the Elf, who canted his head.

"What is wrong?" asked Legolas, coming to a halt as well.

"Something is wrong with Kalya," said Aragorn. Legolas continued to regard Aragorn with question.

"She's in Lórien is she not? Gildor mentioned something about returning there in the coming days," said Legolas.

"She still isn't healed," said Aragorn. "Yes she has grieved, prayed for the souls of the dead, but she is keeping the wound open and refusing to let it heal."

"How can you tell?" asked Legolas. "You've never spoken of having a similar connection as the Lord Elrond's sons."

"Because we don't," replied Aragorn. "The one they have is a lot deeper than the one we share. But I do know that she is in pain."

"And you are feeling helpless," surmised Legolas. "You know, being King does not stop you riding out. Your Steward and the Prince of Dol Amroth are more than capable of handling the situation here while you go to Lothlórien."

"This soon after being crowned?" snorted Aragorn. "Can you image the reaction that would receive from the people? I would like for them to respect me and my family not debate when we are next taking flight!"

"They will be asking that about your sister anyway, but that does not mean they will show her any less respect," replied Legolas.

"Why are we all so convinced that she will not stay? Even _my_ heart is telling me that we will part," said Aragorn.

"Because she is like the eagles," replied Legolas. "They will settle for a time but as soon as the winds are suitable, they take wing again. Dídauar is a gypsy Princess, suited for the wild open plains and the forests of this world, not a daughter of State for whom the walls of stone and mortar were built. Honestly, you would be better as her gypsy Prince but unlike her, your soul can find rest with the towers and halls of the world of men."

"Legolas! People already speak of Kalya and myself have a 'close to scandalous' relationship, comments like that are not going to help!" protested Aragorn, though a small smile was creeping on to his features.

"I'm sure your Guardian would have found a far more scandalous way of describing the situation," chuckled Legolas.

"I'm sure he would, and Kalya would play up to it," said Aragorn, his smile becoming more pronounced.

"You would be worried if she didn't," replied Legolas.

"True, her smile and laughter have been sorely missed, and not just by me," said Aragorn, casting another glance up to the star strewn sky.

"Her star still shines Aragorn. For you and for me," said Legolas, resting a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "But the people will forgive you if your heart needs the confirmation of your eyes. Dídauar was part of your life long before many of them were even born."


	31. Home Isn't That Where The Heart Dwells

**Chapter Thirty–One  
Home. Isn't That Where The Heart Dwells?**

It was another week before Dídauar set out from Lothlórien. Haldir improved dramatically and was declared physically fit enough to return to duty (something Celeborn was reluctant to do) two days before Dídauar left and both he and Elrohir had forced Dídauar to talk about those that had fallen, confront her grief and tried to persuade her that she didn't have to hide her emotions behind masks or her stow her heart behind barriers. Celeborn and Elladan took on the more physical task of dealing with the outcome of the forced counselling sessions – Dídauar still couldn't deal with a lot to emotional bloodletting and since she was closely watched, thus preventing her flight, she fell back on her military training and used sparring to release whatever pent up distress she had. As Aragorn had once commented, Dídauar generally lost sight of who she was actually fighting when she sparred which resulted in all three of them leaving the field with a few minor cuts and bruises.

"You are absolutely convinced that you are ready to face the walls of Minas Tirith again?" asked Celeborn watching as Dídauar readied her mare. Haldir and Rúmil were going to escort the Dúnadan to the south-eastern borders of Lothlórien where she would meet Gildor, some of his Elves and a small troop of Gondorians, for the journey south to Minas Tirith.

"I'm sure Elrond wouldn't mind taking you in the caravan that will arrive here within the next week or two."

"I am sure that he would be delighted," replied Dídauar with a small smile. "And he wouldn't be the only one, but I have been away from my people long enough. And I have faced the wall of Minas Tirith before, it shall not be so difficult this time."

"I do not want to see my little sprite choked behind bars," murmured Celeborn. Dídauar stopped fiddling with her stirrups and turned to properly face the Elf that so long ago she had learnt to call Grandfather.

"We have had this conversation before," she said.

"The last time you came here to escape," agreed Celeborn. "Tell me, what does Lothlórien offer that Imladris or the North does not?"

"Peace," replied Dídauar. Celeborn canted his head, silently asking Dídauar to continue her explanation. "Time seems to slow down, almost to the point of stopping. The ancient trees offer their wisdom with the gentle patience of a mother, not asking for anything in return. West of the mountains, I am a leader. Even in Imladris I am a Captain or the daughter of Elrond, fostered or not. Here in Lothlórien I am a child once more. No one looks to me for aid, I do not have to carry the burden of leadership."

"I would not have thought that would offer you comfort," said Celeborn. "To be so out of control."

"It was these Woods that saved me as a child," said Dídauar. "I trust them the same way I trust their Warden and Lord. As I trust my King."

"Which is why you return to the South," conceded Celeborn. Dídauar smile brightened, though it did not widen. She stepped forward until she was mere inches from the Elf. Taken his hand, she pressed a kiss to its palm before reaching up and kissing his cheek. Celeborn smiled at her with the pride and love normally gifted by a mentor shining in his eyes. Raising his free hand, he cupped Dídauar's cheek.

"You have grown," he said. It was Dídauar's turn to cant her head in question. "Spiritually, you have matured. You have tempered but not to the point of being docile, but enough that you can be the leader the people of Gondor need."

"Wrong twin," said Dídauar. Celeborn shook his head.

"Faerlain had a reputation that reached even our firesides and it is not something that can be easily swept beneath a carpet or expunged from history," he said. "The Wild-child of Rohan's Plains may have vanished nigh on three decades ago but Aurél is there to pick up the torch she left behind."

Dídauar smiled gently. "I hope I can do her justice," she said, not caring that she was talking about herself in the third person.

"You will," assured Celeborn, raising both hands to cup Dídauar's cheeks. "Do not wait too long before you grace this Wood with your presence again. Energetic spirits such as yours and your Halflings are exactly what this place needs to regenerate itself."

"You make me sound like one of Adar's potions!" exclaimed Dídauar. "And they are not _my_ Halflings!" Celeborn laughed.

"The twins talk Kalya, I know what you did in Rohan and Gondor concerning the little ones, particularly the raven youngster. They are yours, whether you verbally acknowledge that or not. As for being a potion, for this place maybe that is what you are," he said, bending his head and pressing a kiss to Dídauar's forehead. Dídauar responded by brushing her nose with the Elf-Lord before the pair broke all contact and the Ranger gather up her mare's reins.

"I will return," she said.

* * *

The journey back to Minas Tirith took just over a week, the horses refusing to be tempered by their riders – if they wanted to gallop, they were going to gallop; if they wanted to walk, they were going to walk and the riders could either learn to cope with the sudden changes of pace or get off and travel under their own power. They travelled down the west side of the Anduin, following the path of the river and Dídauar insisted on stopping at Sarn Gebir. Most of the Elves in the travelling company were a little tetchy about the stop, still sensing the evil that had tainted the area but Gildor rebuked them sternly. Dídauar had her reasons for visiting the area and they were to respect those wishes, even if their own were to be miles away. Dídauar quietly thanked the Elf and, taking with her four of the Gondorians, she went to Amon Hen.

It wasn't difficult to find the battlefield, broken blades, misfired arrows and rotting corpses still littering the ground with not even the carrion birds choosing to feast on the Uruk-Hai. Dídauar bit back a pained gasp as the scenery began all to familiar and, without warning, she sank to her knees. Damrod, one of Faramir's former Ithilien rangers, nearly fell over her when she came to a sudden stop, though quickly regained his balance.

"My Lady?" he asked cautiously.

"It was here," said Dídauar. Damrod raised an eyebrow, still confused. "This is where he fell."

"The Captain-General? How can you know that?" asked a second Gondorian.

"His _name_ was Boromir," replied Dídauar, ignoring the second question as she caught sight of something in the foliage. Shifting the leaves she uncovered a familiar black, silver and gold trinket was uncovered. Dídauar bit lip as she reverently scooped the insignia from the ground. While the Great Horn denoted Boromir as the heir to the Gondorian Stewardship, the charm in Dídauar's hand was more personal. It was a piece of a disk that when complete, was about three inches in diameter. Denethor, who was a lot more sentimental than people gave him credit for, had had the insignia commissioned as a Solstice gift when Boromir was eight years old. With the shadow of Mordor reaching further, Faramir was still a sickly youngster come the winter months, seeming to contract every chest infection, cold and bronchial problem going, and Finduilas also beginning to show signs of ill health, Denethor had wanted to bolster courage and hope within the family, in his eldest son especially. The disk itself was made of a thin piece of onyx and was traced with two designs – on one side delicate threads of Mithril depicted Minas Tirith and on the other gold had been used to capture Dol Amroth, the ancestral home of Finduilas – and had been divided in what appeared to be a haphazard manner but slotted neatly into place with the other three pieces. Denethor had split the medallion before his family the same way he would a loaf of bread, fastening a chain around each of their necks and explaining the significance of the gift.

"We live in dark times my dear ones," he had said. "And there maybe times that you are separated from your home and your family. This medallion is in pieces but it can join together to become a whole, just as we do as a family. Keep it safe, and when you feel lost or scared or alone, all you have to do is concentrate on the pictures and we will be there for you, reminding you that you are not alone."

Finduilas had lightly chastised him for being so dark and brooding, especially around the Solstice festival which was supposed to be a time for celebration and cheer, while Dídauar had teased her friend something terrible about being sentimental. The boys had been proud of their sections of the medallion, though Faramir's quickly acquired scratches around the edges from where he had chewed the thing, and the fact that the piece Dídauar held was in a relatively untarnished condition and was to be found miles from civilisation, coupled with stories of reminiscence from Merry and Pippin, showed Boromir had continued to believe the tale Denethor had woven around the object even into adulthood.

"I've seen that before," commented Damrod. "Faramir has one the same."

Dídauar shook her head. "Faramir's piece goes here," she said, indicating the lower right side of the object. "Take it Damrod, it belongs to your Captain now."

"That would be you," pointed out Damrod. "Faramir handed over authority to the King who in turn bestowed the title of Captain-General to you until there was another heir." Dídauar gave the young man a sad smile.

"It belongs to Faramir," she said, pressing the object into Damrod's palm and pressing his fingers around it. "Allow the men to pay whatever respects they desire, but do not allow them to disturb the area with anything more than footprints and tears."

"We are men not boys!" protested another Gondorian. Dídauar looked at him sharply.

"Even a King can shed tears," she said before climbing back to her feet. "I am going to the riverside. Allow me to wander for half an hour."

"My Lady," said Damrod, making to bow by way of acknowledgement and agreement. Dídauar stopping him.

"You do not bow to a Captain," she said. Damrod looked a little startled but compromised with a military salute. Dídauar smiled at him before heading towards the rushing water of the Anduin, her hand once more finding the Tree and horse charms beneath her tunic.

* * *

Continuing on their path along the Anduin's west bank, the company passed through the East Emnet of Rohan, where they were briefly accosted by members of the East-marsh Éored who were, understandably, still a little jumpy about strangers crossing their land uninvited and unannounced. A lone rider they could cope with but a company of at least a dozen, all of whom were bedecked as warriors was cause for concern. A couple hasty conversations later, aided by the fact Dídauar was still capable of speaking flawless Rohirric, albeit a couple of decades outdated, and the company found themselves with a Rohirric guard, though its intent was protection rather than escorting unwelcome visitors out of the country. The task was then taken over by members of the garrison at Cair Andros, the soldiers there glad to see their own comrades back in one piece – tales of Galadriel's Elven sorcery having reached even their ears – and delighted to welcome their Princess back. While Dídauar managed to persuade the commander that sending a messenger really wasn't necessary, being only eight hours ride from Minas Tirith and the passage of people and goods being an almost continual event, news quickly reached the White City that Dídauar was back.

* * *

Sadly, the work of the wicked is never complete, nor is it the case with Kings apparently. Aragorn was due more than a few days reprieve from duty considering the almost continual travelling, fighting and grieving that the man had had to contend with since the previous December but his people in Gondor were not so obliging. When Dídauar arrived back in Minas Tirith, Aragorn had been closeted with the Throne Room, embroiled in an argument as to where the best defences needed to be placed. It seemed that not everyone was willing to accept that the War was over and that Sauron was gone forever.

"……still run unchecked through Ithilien. We must tighten the north-eastern border to prevent them re-entering Mordor or running rampage across our lands," one soldier pressed as Dídauar and, at the Dúnadan's insistence, Damrod slipped into the Throne Room.

"My men are already stretched beyond their limits protecting the border against the Haradrim," countered another.

"The Haradrim are a dying threat," dismissed the first. "Without Sauron's promises, they have no prowess or cause to fight Gondor."

"So why are they attacking Ithilien? They are suddenly short on firewood are they?" rebuffed the second. Damrod clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle a chuckle at the response of his commander. "Sire, I would suggest removing some of those posted to Cair Andros and have them strengthen the northern border. That way, my men and I can concentrate on the southern border."

"Cair Andros is a strategic defence position, we cannot leave her unguarded!" protested the first.

"I didn't say unguarded. I merely suggested that the guard there be reduced and the soldiers redeployed where they will be of immediate benefit," retorted the second.

"All right," interrupted Aragorn as the first speaker made to retort again. "Commander Anborn, how many men would you need to increase the strength of the southern border?"

"At least fifty," replied Anborn.

"Fifty!" exclaimed the first. "What do your men do? Spend half their time sleeping!"

"Trust me, sleep is the last thing they do," replied Damrod coming to his commander's aid. Anborn's eyes seemed to light up upon seeing his friend once more and the widened still further when they settled on Dídauar who was perched on the steps beside the Steward's chair. The Ranger held up her hand to prevent any mention of her presence.

"Fifty additional men would mean more patrols and would mean that those already fighting can take the rest that the Haradrim's presence has so far denied them."

"And you have them," replied Aragorn. "For as long as the Haradrim remain a threat to the southern border."

"And the Orcs to the north?"

"The additional forces should see better results from the both camps. I suggest that a further thirty soldiers are moved from the garrison here in Minas Tirith to strengthen the forces on the northern boarder of Ithilien. Should there be a major catastrophe, they can easily be recalled. Now, Damrod, you have returned from Lothlórien, can I assume you are not empty handed?"

"You're orders were followed to the letter Sire," said Dídauar, answering for the Ithilien ranger. Aragorn swung around at his sister's voice and found himself grinning as he caught sight of said sibling sitting pixie-like on the marble steps before the throne.

"The Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel send their greetings," she said, making an Elven salute to her King. "Now, might I suggest you define a major catastrophe before your Councilmen demand the immediate recall of those you have just deployed to Ithilien?"

* * *

"So are you staying?" asked Aragorn as he shuffled the papers before him, canting his head in Dídauar's direction.

"For the moment," replied Dídauar, slipping off her perch and wrapping her arms around Aragorn's shoulders from behind and planting a kiss on his crown. "Now tell me, how does it feel to be finally King?"

"On days like today, I wish I was still a Ranger. On others, the smiles of hope that I get from the people are enough to make everything seem worthwhile," replied Aragorn, bringing a hand up briefly to clasp Dídauar's wrist. "_And_ I no longer have to listen to long speeches about me fulfilling my destiny or my duty."

"At least not from Adar," smiled Dídauar, releasing her brother.

"There is one thing I greatly dislike though," said Aragorn as Dídauar perched on herself the edge of the table.

"Oh?"

"I can go _nowhere_ without someone following me, whether it is a servant or a councilman or an armed guard," groused Aragorn. "I go to relieve the call of nature and I have a valet waiting on the other side of the door, I go to bed at night and there is warrior standing outside my chamber. _That_ is changing as soon as I am married!"

"Ah, but you are a King not a vagabond ranger. And now you know how Denethor felt," grinned Dídauar. "Has Norín got her hands on your riding leathers?"

"A vagabond ranger has more privacy. And no she hasn't, though that is not through lack of trying!" chuckled Aragorn.

"Good. Go change into them while I find Faramir. I'll meet you at the stables in fifteen minutes," said Dídauar.

"What do you have planned?" asked Aragorn, noticing the mischievous glint in Dídauar's eye.

"Using the skills I was taught by a boy who was in entirely the wrong profession though his parents would _kill_ me for saying that," replied Dídauar. "Now go!"

Gandalf stood quiet and unnoticed in a corner of the Throne Room, watching the play between the twins and a gentle smile formed on his features. Dídauar may not be Minas Tirith for long periods of time, but it was almost a guarantee that, for the most part, when she was there, court etiquette and tradition would be disregarded.

The people could gripe, complain and protest all they wanted but not even great could stop the change that was coming to Gondor.


	32. In Payment For Their Toils

**Notes, Warnings _etc_**  
I've modified Tolkien's time line slightly. Appendix B of _The Return of the King_ states that Arwen entered Minas Tirith on the first day of _Lithe_ and married Aragorn on Mid-year's Day. It also states that Aragorn found the White Tree sapling on the 25th of June and that it was the sign he had been looking for, presumably as to when Arwen would arrive. However, Mid-year's Day is approximately 4 days _before_ this. Therefore, I have decided that Aragorn for the tree sapling earlier in June.

**Chapter Thirty-Two - In Payment For Their Toils**

Steadily the days past and gradually turned into weeks. The people of Gondor pulled together to rebuild their broken homes and towers. Anything a man had two of was shared with a neighbour who had none without thought of payment or return. Slowly, the land began to regain its former glory. It would take years for the full transformation to be complete, Osgiliath being just short of a ruin and the site where Minas Morgul had once proudly stood creating a gaping wound in the landscape, but each building that was completed was a victorious step along the right path. During the early days of June, Aragorn and Gandalf seemed to vanish completely, leaving Faramir and Dídauar to deal with the running of the country, and cursing their Kings name as they did so. Faramir took charge of the Council of Gondor while Dídauar concentrated more on the practical aspect of the title Captain-General than the political. They worked as a successful team but were more than happy to see Aragorn return, bearing a young tree.

* * *

"_Where_ did you find that!" exclaimed Dídauar, knowing full well how special the prize Aragorn was currently replanting was.

"On the wastelands of Mount Mindolluin," replied Aragorn. Dídauar stared and knelt beside the sapling.

"It is barely seven years old! _Where_ did the parent come from?" she asked.

"I have no idea," replied Aragorn. "But I care not for the history, all I care is that the sign I have been waiting for has finally been given. Have the sentry set a watch, the day is drawing near."

"And you complain that _I_ talk in riddles!" grinned Dídauar. Aragorn was about to explain what exactly the men would be watching for when they pair were interrupted by a man who was obviously more used to shouting on a parade ground rather than speaking to his King.

"King Elessar, would you kindly explain to me what this missive is about?" demanded Lord Carnir, who had apparently made it his mission to make things as difficult as possible for the new rulers. The twins stood up, Dídauar standing in a defensive position beside Aragorn while Aragorn himself let out a small groan, only to be gently kicked in the heel by Dídauar, and held his hand out for the parchment Carnir was brandishing. Reading quickly, Aragorn handed the note over his shoulder to Dídauar.

"Your writing," he said. Dídauar, slightly puzzled, accepted the note.

"I would thought it was quite clear," she said glancing up at Carnir. "You, along with seven other members of the council are to journey to the site of Minas Morgul to help with the razing of said City."

"I am a nobleman of this city!" exclaimed Carnir.

"Is that supposed to impress?" replied Dídauar raising an eyebrow. "Your fellows have been gladly helping those of the lower levels and those outside the City walls, who were not so fortunate as to have an army protecting them from the hordes of Sauron. So far, you are the only one who has raised a complaint. Anyone who is physically capable is helping with the rebuilding effort. That way life can return to some level of normalcy before autumn arrives. Even Arodanu is assisting."

"This is work for the lower classes!" said Carnir in desperation.

"And for the upper," replied Aragorn. "I said that Minas Morgal would be completely destroyed and that includes the foundations. Everyone who is able has taken their turn at washing a little bit the evil away from this land, you cannot be expected to be given dispensation."

Carnir spluttered in indignation.

"You would be the first to complain if one of the commoners refused to work when they were able. Should we expect hundreds of the people to complain because you refuse to help _them_?" stated Dídauar, her cobalt gaze fixed firmly on Carnir.

"There was a time," began Carnir, taking a menacing step towards the pair. "When the women of this city knew their place and did not interfere with the political dealings of men." Dídauar's glare hardened but wisely kept her mouth shut, turning her attention back to the sapling which seemed to be growing before her eyes.

"That is _enough_ Carnir. You will help with the destruction of Minas Morgul. If tying you to a horse is the only way to get you there then I will do it. _Personally_!" snapped Aragorn. Muttering, Carnir inclined his head and swept from the courtyard, his sable robes billowing behind him. Aragorn cast a glance towards Dídauar who was acting like she had just been asked the time of day.

"Why do you let them speak to you like that?" he asked in confusion. "You did the same in Rohan when first we arrived and later when we were planning for Helm's Deep."

"And you are being the over-protective elder brother once more," replied Dídauar glancing up. "I have one of two choices – either I stamp my foot and lose my temper like a child who has been denied their own way or I can ignore what comments are sent in my direction. If I went around shouting or beating up all the people who slander me, I would have very little time for anything else. I'm unconventional, I am well aware of that fact, but eventually it is accepted that pestering me, slandering me, taking a jibe at everything I do, will not cause me to change. Those who are willing to accept the unconventional Captain or Princess will do so, those who don't are not worth bothering about. And make no mistake Estel, Arwen will not be the perfect court Queen these people are expecting. The only difference between me and your betrothed is that I will not be a permanent fixture in Gondorian society."

"You have made your decision then," said Aragorn, defeat and pain echoing in his voice. Dídauar reached up, silently asking for Aragorn's hand.

"You knew I would not stay," she murmured, gently pulling Aragorn back to his knees. "I will be your Captain-General, carrying the title with pride and hoping that I can do it justice. I will continue to be Captain of the Dúnadan, acting as crutch and mentor to those of our people who chose to remain in the North. I will offer what advice I can to aid you and the people, but I cannot stay bond to a City of stone. By blood I am your heir but if the title of Queen ever falls to me, I will pass it to Faramir."

"He will never accept it," said Aragorn, the tone of his voice not giving his opinion on that particular topic away.

"Then you better hurry up and sire a child, preferable a male firstborn considering your Council," replied Dídauar.

"Can I at least get a wife first?!" exclaimed Aragorn. Dídauar chuckled and pressed a kiss to Aragorn's forehead.

"I have a watch to set for exactly that task," she said, saluting her King before setting off in the direction of the barracks.

* * *

While the kitchens had been prepared for the event of the King's wedding well in advance of the day, which in itself was a little unclear, the seamstresses _hadn't_. Norín, the head seamstress who had tried so determinately to separate both Aragorn and Dídauar from their worn and travel stained leathers, with little success, was a stickler for tradition and for some strange reason, that meant that new linens and clothes needed to be made for the special day. The table clothes would be white with a little blue dye traced through the material, a delicate lace trim finishing the article off. Aragorn was fitted for a new set of robes made from deep wine-red crushed velvet, a white tunic, again crushed velvet with a design of gold traced about the cuffs, hem and collar, and leggings made of tough black linen. Faramir was also fitted out for a new ensemble, the only difference from Aragorn's being that his robes were made of a royal blue rather than red. Frodo and Sam were also gifted with new ensembles, similar to Aragorn and Faramir's but theirs being made from cotton rather than velvet and the robes were exchanged for a cloak while Merry and Pippin would be attending the ceremony in their respective uniforms of Rohan and Gondor, Despite her protests that Arwen would already have a dress made for her by the best seamstresses in Imladris, Dídauar had been dragged into the process to act as a manikin in place of the Elven Lady herself. Besides, as Norín had pointed out, it meant that the seamstresses would gain Dídauar's measurements for her own dress and effectively kill two birds with the one stone, and therefore cutting down their workload. The woman nearly had a heartache when Dídauar announced that she herself would _not_, under any circumstances, including pain of death, be wearing a dress to her brother's wedding. Instead she would be attending in dress Gondorian uniform, weapons included. After that announcement, Dídauar found herself victim to several more pin-pricks than before and she was _convinced_ that a majority of them were deliberate. To say that she was glad when all the alterations had been made to the dress would be an understatement.

* * *

It was morning on the day before Mid-years day that Merry and Pippin came bounding into the Throne Room where Dídauar and Aragorn were currently reassessing the situation in Ithilien with Faramir, Damrod and Anborn. Gandalf strolled behind the Tower guard and young Rohirric esquire, Frodo and Sam trotting at the wizard's side, both elder Hobbits looking embarrassed by the behaviour of the younger cousins while Gandalf looked like an indulgent grandfather. Damrod, Anborn and Faramir continued with their tallying with as much discretion as they could while Aragorn and Dídauar dealt with the visitors.

"Is that where Denethor learnt that look?" asked Aragorn quietly, noting the mildly amused look on Gandalf's face.

"Couldn't tell you, I hid from Mithrandir every time he came to Minas Tirith," replied Dídauar. Aragorn looked at her startled.

"What? I came here to hid from more or less the rest of the world, I was not going to let an Istari with a loose tongue find out that I was here!" she protested. "Now, Merry, Pippin, why are you in such high spirits?"

"The guards are saying that there is a company of fair-folk approaching the City," replied Pippin. "They will be here by nightfall according to the scout from Amon Dîn."

"And why is it you, and not him that is delivering this message?" asked Aragorn, faintly amused himself at the creature's enthusiasm. Gandalf cleared his throat.

"When accosted by a rather exuberant Took and Brandybuck, anyone will give up their secrets," said the Istari. Aragorn chuckled.

"I can well imagine," he said. Pippin however, wasn't finished in delivering his news.

"Apparently they are carrying flags of green, red and blue, all triangle shaped. And they are saying that they have a mounted guard who are dressed in the colours of Rohan," he said.

"Pendants Pip," corrected Aragorn absently, his expression turned serious and his gaze connecting with Gandalf's, trying to discern whether there was more to the company than being simple 'fair-folk'. The colours that Pippin had described where the official colours of Imladris and Lothlórien. If it was the party he hoped it to be, the colours made perfect sense, as did their supposed gypsy look and the Rohirric escort, Éomer having promised to return to Minas Tirith as escort to the Lady Arwen should she pass through Edoras. Gandalf's gaze however was giving nothing away, though a delighted spark could be seen if you looked close enough.

"Permission to investigate?" asked Dídauar grinning. She, unlike Aragorn, knew the approximate timetable for the arrival of Arwen and Elrond, having been in Lothlórien when the news reached the Woods. She _hadn't_, at the expressed wishes of their foster-brothers, divulged the information to Aragorn.

"Denied," said Aragorn immediately. Dídauar looked ready to protest but Aragorn beat her to it. "If I have to stay here in this City awaiting the arrival of the company, then you are going to do that same," he said firmly, but not without a hint of mirth as Dídauar slumped back in her seat, looking most put out. The younger twin made a mental note _not_ to ask permission the next time.

* * *

"Estel! Gates! Now!" shouted Dídauar, sprinting across the courtyard to where Aragorn was examining the White Tree which had been but a bare sapling a week before but was now developing a multitude of leaves and blossoms.

"Huh?"

"The company is less than a mile away," said Dídauar. "And we are going to meet them at the Gates."

"They're here?"

"Almost," grinned Dídauar. "Come on!"

"Is it just me or are you more excited about their arrival than I am?" chuckled Aragorn as he agreed to Dídauar's decision.

"Just wait till your standing at the Gate before you criticise me," rejoined Dídauar. Together the royal twins ran through the streets of Gondor, acting less than half their age as they ran hand in hand, Dídauar once again putting her knowledge of the City's secret shortcuts to good use.

They arrived in the main courtyard just as the Watch-Captain was calling out orders to have the Main Gate – which had been the first priority to be repaired – to be opened. Dídauar and Aragorn used the time it took for the heavily wooden doors to swing open to recapture their breaths and make themselves reasonably presentable. Not that it really mattered for as soon as the train of Elves had entered the courtyard, Elladan and Elrohir leading the way, bearing a banner of glinting silver, the pair were set upon by two Elves in the forms of Glorfindel and Erestor.

"Gwannant lû ann," said Glorfindel as he and Erestor pulled both of the royal twins into an enthusiastic hug which was welcomed and returned in equal measure. _(It has been too long)_

"Indeed it has," agreed Aragorn, managing to persuade the golden-Elf to let him go, only to find himself pulled into an equally tight embrace by his Guardian.

"El'dan!" he exclaimed, reverting back to the name he had used for the Elf when he was a child as the breath was completely knocked out of his body. "El'dan, please! I would like to breathe!"

"Elladan, kindly release your charge. I did not travel all this way to heal him from broken ribs!" requested Elrond as he gracefully dismounted his horse and turned to help Arwen from her palfrey only to find that task stolen from him by Elrohir, who, much to everyone's surprise, had not partaken in the enthusiastic reunion. In her arms, the young woman, for by Human standards Arwen looked to be little over twenty-five, cradled the Sceptre of Annúminas which she held out to her father. Elrond accepted the rod and turned to Aragorn. Dídauar, who had remained standing within the shared embrace of Glorfindel and Erestor, moved to Aragorn's side.

"Many years ago I said I would offer my daughter's hand to no less a man than the King of Gondor and Arnor, should he be found worthy," said Elrond. "My son, the Winged Crown of Elendil you have already accepted and I bid you accept this Sceptre as a symbol of your authority over the northlands. And I give you the hand of my daughter, Arwen Undómiel, in honour of my vow."

Aragorn blinked as Elrond bowed to him, seeming to realise for the first time that this was his reality. That he'd actually done it. That he had finally won the prize he had admired from a distance for so long. His brain switched off and his heart took over as he handed the Sceptre to the nearest person – Elrond – and pulled Arwen into a passionate greeting, not caring about their public location, or the fact that he was kissing a complete stranger as far as his people were concerned, or that the wedding wasn't until the following day.

Arms sneaked around Dídauar as she watched the scene before her, a kiss being pressed to her temple. Dídauar leaned back in the embrace, the greeting being familiar between her and a vast majority of the elder Elves in the train, Galadriel being the obvious exception.

"Well done," whispered the Elf, pressing another kiss to her temple. Dídauar yelped at the voice and spun around in the arms that were holding her.

"Haldir?" she whispered, almost fearing to believe what she was seeing. She reached up a hand to finger the edges of the Elf's face to test that it wasn't a dream. Haldir caught the hand as it neared his ears and pressed a kiss to its palm before pressing it to his chest where Dídauar could feel the strong, steady heartbeat. Choking out laughter in surprise, Dídauar threw her arms around Haldir's neck and hugged him tightly, burying her face in the crook of Haldir's neck. Laughing as well, Haldir strengthened his embrace, picking the Dúnadan up and spinning her around as if she were the child he had first been introduced to nearly eighty years ago.

* * *

Elrond was the one who conducted the wedding between Aragorn and Arwen, with Gandalf standing as officiator. Faramir and Tarcil stood beside Aragorn as his groomsmen while Elladan stood with him in place of his father. Arahael, who had _finally_ been declared completely healed by both the Gondorian healers and his own people stood with the rest of his people who formed a small guard of honour for their Chieftain. Opposite them stood Éomer and Éowyn with Merry and Pippin standing on either side. Glorfindel and Erestor stood next to the Rohirric siblings, as did Legolas and Gimli. In the main throng mingled Elves the remaining Elves, including Celeborn, Galadriel, Haldir, Rúmil and Melpomaen, members of the Council and general populace of Gondor as well as the remainder of Éomer's troupe from Rohan. Aragorn stood fiddling with the hilt of his dagger, nervous about finally having his most cherished dream realised. Tarcil smiled at him and stayed his cousin's hand in such a gentle manner that Aragorn was briefly reminded of Halbarad. A flash of pain shot through Aragorn's heart even on this joyous occasion and it must have shown in his eyes because Tarcil applied gentle pressure to his hand.

"He is watching," mouthed the young man. Aragorn nodded and gratefully returned the brief pressure.

Suddenly Lindir struck up a march melody on his flute, causing heads to turn and Aragorn's breath to catch even as a wide smile split across his face. Frodo and Sam came walking smartly down the aisle, both carrying a cushion of red velvet. Sam carried two rings of entwined gold and Mithril, the sunlight catching the metal and causing it to dance happily. His cushion also carried two ribbons of red silk, for the ceremony was to be a combination of both Elven and Gondorian traditions. Frodo carried a rich looking headdress, for this was to be a duel ceremony – Arwen was to marry the King of Gondor and in doing so was accepting the title of Queen. Behind them walked Dídauar, who Arwen had persuaded _out_ of uniform and into clothing that better fit her true position in society, both Human and Elven – a pastel blue shirt that was cut at the elbow, a silver design traced up the sleeve, accompanied by black leggings and soft tan boots – while Arwen herself looked like Lúthien incarnate and that was not just the biased opinion of family speaking.

True to Dídauar's prediction, Arwen _had_ come to Gondor with her bridal attire already prepared. Norín had been most put out by this but as one of the younger seamstresses had chirped, a Queen could never have too many dresses. The daughter of Elrond was clothed in pale green, the bodice tight and the skirts billowing, the lush combination of silk and satin creating a gentle hiss as she made her way towards Aragorn. In her hand she carried a bouquet of flowers and vines, delicately woven together by one of the young court maidens. Arwen's smile could have lit a windowless room and her eyes shone with love and joy, the spark intensifying as she neared the dais. One arm was looped through Elrohir's, the face of younger of Elrond's sons a mask of conflicting emotions, though he did his best to portray the image of happiness, for his family's sake if not his own.

Reaching the dais, the two rows of noble guests closed in around them, forming a semi-circle that represented the free peoples of Middle-Earth. Frodo and Sam took up their places on either side of Gandalf while Dídauar stood beside Éowyn. Elrohir kissed Arwen's cheek and relieved her of her bouquet as he placed her hand in Aragorn's before joining Elladan. The King and his bride turned then to face Elrond who raised his arms to begin to ceremony.


	33. A New World

**Notes, Warnings **_**etc**_

I am once again altering the details a little. In the timeline there is a three day discrepancy from when Théoden's body was returned to Edoras to when his funeral was held. I'm going to use that time to have the people of Edoras say farewell to their King.

This is kinda a filler chapter but after over a month I thought better give you _something_ to mull over.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three - A New World**

The Elves of Imladris and of Lothlórien and the men of Rohan who had travelled to Gondor to witness the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen stayed in the southern state for the remainder of June and the first half of July. Despite being guests of the King and the protests of both Aragorn and Dídauar, Elrond and Erestor set about aiding the scribes and legislators of Gondor with the legal details of both the King's marriage and the redevelopment of the country while Haldir and Rúmil, along with Legolas and Gimli, travelled to the southern border of Ithilien to aid in the continuing battle against the Haradrim and Elven twins and Glorfindel ventured into the northern region of the forest to once more do battle with Orcs.

On a more intimate level, the relationship that had begun between Faramir and Éowyn while they were both ensconced in the Houses of Healing during the spring was not a delusion or passing fancy created by two lonely souls desperate for comfort. It quickly became a regular occurrence to see the pair together out with the obvious meetings of mealtime. Of course, they were not permitted to wander far without _someone_ appearing as a chaperone, Éowyn being the young, and as of yet, unattached, sister of the Rohirric King, and Faramir being the Steward of Gondor. Despite their unwanted attendants however, the relationship between the young Lord and the White Lady matured and deepened and mid way through the second week of July, Faramir approached Aragorn and Imrahil, requesting permission to marry, and then Éomer to formally request his sister's hand. Éomer, who had been indulging in a glass of wine as he studied a diagram of the fourth level – the young King had insisted that he also be permitted to offer his aid while he was in the City – had choked on the ruby liquid as Faramir voiced his request. Recovering himself, Éomer considered Faramir before answering so emphatically that one would be forgiven for thinking _he_ was the one who had just been proposed to. Fortunately after _that_ performance, Éowyn had also consented to the engagement and the joyous news was announced to the general populace of Minas Tirith on the fifteenth day of July.

Around this time, Frodo was starting to get itchy feet. Both he and Sam had fully recovered from their travels to Mordor and all four Hobbits were beginning to get anxious to return to the homeland they had left nearly a year ago. Not thinking it would be either clever or polite just to disappear from the City, Frodo approached Aragorn and Arwen as they sat beneath the now fully blossoming White Tree.

"Frodo!" greeted Aragorn, opening his arms to the Hobbit. Frodo scuffed his feet a little before stepping into the brief embrace. He still found it difficult to accept that the Ranger they had met in Bree, and been none to polite to either, was the same man who was now sitting in front of him, bedecked in royal regalia, an Elven Lady by his side.

"You are troubled," observed Arwen.

"Troubled is not the word I would use, my Lady. Instead, I am anxious to return home. I feel I have been away long enough," said Frodo. "And I miss Bilbo. I was disappointed to find that he was not at your wedding."

"You sound surprised at that," said Aragorn. "Your uncle is old, Frodo. While he seemed fit and spry when he had the Ring, it did not stop him from aging. It only delayed the showing of the physical signs. The journey to Gondor is not an easy one for someone of Bilbo's age."

"All the years your uncle seemed to have been spared have caught up with him very quickly," continued Arwen. "He will now only make one more journey. He has been accorded the gift of the Elves and if it is his wish, Bilbo may pass into the West and receive the peace of the Blessed Realm."

"Then I must go quickly if I am to reach Rivendell before he leaves," said Frodo, seeming panicked by the idea of being unable to say goodbye to the Hobbit who had raised him as a father.

"Before you go, I have one last gift for you Frodo," said Arwen, reaching up to unclasp the tear-shaped jewel that hung around her neck.

"My Lady, you have given me too much already," protested Frodo as Arwen pressed the jewel into his hand.

"Gifts are mine to chose who and when I give them," chided Arwen gently. "In choosing to marry Aragorn, I have chosen the same fate as my uncle, Elros. Since the Realm of Valinor is now beyond my reach, I send you in my place. If the pain and memories of your journey become too much, travel into the West and you will find your rest."

Frodo blinked in amazement, his gaze flicking between Arwen and the jewel in his hand. "Thank you," he whispered, closing his fist over the jewel and bowing smartly to the royal couple. "Thank you."

"I take it we will escorting some additional guests when we leave the City," said Dídauar as she arrived with Culas, dodging Frodo as he hurried past.

"Four," said Aragorn. "Frodo is eager to return home and I doubt Sam will remain in Gondor without him. Merry has already expressed his desire to be part of Théoden's funeral escort and I do not foresee Pippin remaining here on his own. Now, Culas, pray _stop_ fidgeting with your sleeve and tell me what is on your mind."

"I would like to remain in Minas Tirith," said Culas quietly. Aragorn canted his head.

"Oh? Why?" he asked.

"To learn," said Culas. "I want to learn the trade of the healers and, no offence to the Lord Elrond, I would feel more comfortable doing that here rather than in Imladris."

"Kalya?" asked Aragorn. "You're his Captain."

"And you're his Chieftain," reminded Dídauar, folding her arms. "I have no problem with him staying but _only_ if you say that you will look after him. Under Gondorian law, he will need a sponsor until he comes of age."

"He is kin and will be treated as such," replied Aragorn. "Have you spoken to Nemír and Tarcil about this?" Culas fidgeted again.

"I was hoping you could help me with that part," said the youth. "I think Tarcil will agree, but Nemír will probably bring up my father."

"Alright. Ladies, I will see you at evening meal. Culas, let us find our illusive kin," said Aragorn, kissing Arwen quickly before standing up and throwing an arm around Culas' shoulders. Dídauar quickly took Aragorn's vacated seat.

"You were right," she said without preamble. Arwen canted her head.

"What about?"

"You told me that everything would turn out alright," replied Dídauar. "And I want to thank you for that. I don't think I could have got this far without your words."

"Kalya, was it not you that told the Lady Éowyn that you cannot give people what they do not already have?" asked Arwen. Dídauar nodded, not really caring how her foster-sister, turned sister-by-law, knew about that particular conversation.

"For you to have travelled this far, you must have already had some hope that the end was near," continued Arwen.

"You still have my thanks," said Dídauar. "Now, how are you finding Minas Tirith?"

* * *

Théoden's funeral escort left Minas Tirith on the nineteenth day of July and the slow, respectful pace took eighteen9 days to reach Edoras. Among the mingled guard of Rohirric and Gondorian soldiers sat Merry who was once more in uniform as he rode before Éomer on Firefoot. In his arms, Merry reverently carried Théoden's ancient sword – Herugrim. Pippin was also in uniform and was being carried behind Faramir. The predication that Pippin would attach himself to the young Steward had been proved correct as Pippin and Faramir quickly became an extension of each other, more often than not regaling each other with tales of their varying homelands and of the Boromir they remembered. Aragorn and Arwen rode behind Éomer and Éowyn, flanked by the Rohirric captains; Gamling, Erkenbrand, Elfhelm, along with Arahael, Dídauar, Legolas and Erestor, who had long trained as a warrior despite his chosen profession. Culas, Nemír and the Elven twins were ahead acting as scouts while the remaining Dúnedain mingled between the Elves and the Rohirric warriors with whom they had fought and bled.

The journey was uneventful, which either meant Culas, Nemír and the twins were acting as more than scouts or that the Orcs and Dunlendings had decided to leave Rohan alone. Éomer could only pray that it was the latter. The people of Edoras had lined the streets of their hilltop city and everyone, man, woman and child, went to their knees and removed any type of cloth that covered their head, as their fallen King was carried on a litter up to the Golden Hall. Somewhere in the crowd a voice cried out a lament that was soon echoing around the city.

"What are they saying?" asked Arahael quietly, turning to Dídauar who was whispering the chant as well.

"An evil death has set forth the noble warrior. A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels in Meduseld that he is no more, to his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved," replied Dídauar. "It is not just for Théoden but all those who we cannot welcome home with open arms and joyful laughter."

"They are at peace," said Elrohir gently as he wrapped his arms around Dídauar, switching instantly from the role of battle hardened warrior to comforting foster-brother as they watched Éomer, Gamling, Erkenbrand and Elfhelm be joined by Grimbold and Éothain in carrying the litter up the stone steps to the Golden Hall. Éowyn and Faramir followed with Merry and Pippin taking up the rearguard. Dídauar leant back in the embrace, soaking up the calming presence that the Elf-knight offered and smiled gently, pride swelling within her as she watched the new generation of Rohan come into its own. Behind them, strains of a ballad reached their ears, the voice of Gléowine the Minstrel proud as he told of his King's heroic charge towards Gondor.

"_Forth rode the King, fear behind him, fate before him.  
Fealty kept he; oaths he had taken, all fulfilled them….."_

"He is more than worthy of the Halls of his fathers," murmured Aragorn as he appeared at their side. "May Béma receive the son of this land and grant him the peace he was long due."

* * *

Dídauar had a terrible habit of becoming lost whenever she was in Rohan. No, that is not strictly true. _She_ knew exactly where she was, having run wild in the fields and dells for twenty-three years, the problem was no one _else_ knew where she ran. Gamling, Erkenbrand and Grimbold all suspected where she was but they also knew that if they looked for her, it was most likely that she would become her namesake of the North. It was safer for all concerned just to leave her to work to her own schedule. Aragorn also suspected where she had gone, having run with his sister on a few occasions but he also knew that she would not return if pressured. They had spent too long apart already and were preparing to spend at least the next year at opposite corners of the world, Aragorn was not about to drive a wedge between them that would make that distance of both time and space any larger than it needed to be.

"How can you guarantee her safety?" exclaimed Glorfindel, rounding on the bear like Captain. Erkenbrand was not intimidated by the Elf Lord which was an achievement in itself, Glorfindel having the ability to intimidate Erestor and Elrond on occasion.

"You doubt her skill? After the feats she achieved at Helm's Deep and Pelennor?" asked Erkenbrand in amazement. "And let us not forget the twenty-two years she spent in the King's personal guard and that _you_ helped in her training."

"I trust her with my life, but I do not like the idea of the newly restored heir to the Gondorian throne wandering alone," replied Glorfindel. "Sauron is defeated but his servants are not. Saruman is still a threat, even without his staff and Orcs do not need a master to tell them to capture or slay."

"But they do need motivation. One warrior is hardly worth the effort, especially when she is less than a day away from this City," replied Erkenbrand. Glorfindel's eyes narrowed.

"You know where she is," the Elf hissed.

"I _suspect_," emphasised Erkenbrand. "And no, I will not tell you. You said you trust her. Try demonstrating that trust. If she is not back by sundown tomorrow, I will send out a search party."

"You said she was less than a day away!"

"You are free to search for her before then, but I have seen her become like a wraith should she not wish to be found," said Erkenbrand, clearly not going to be shifted in his decision as he dug out a scroll from the pile in front of him. Glorfindel scowled at the man for another minute before turning sharply on his heel and nearly colliding with Erestor and Aragorn as he left the barracks.

"Glorfindel?" asked Erestor, catching his balance.

"Kalya has done a disappearing act again," snapped Glorfindel. "And that man suspects where she is but is refusing to do anything about bringing her back!"

"Glorfindel, the people of Rohan, especially of Edoras are as loyal to Kalya as the Dúnedain are," said Aragorn gently, urging the golden warrior to sit down. "They could all have seen where she has run but if she desires solitude, they will not tell."

"She has done this before? Where is she?" demanded the Elf.

"Every time she lost a warrior," said Aragorn. "But as with these people, I will not tell you where she has run. This is _her_ way of dealing with the changes that have come over this world. She will not miss Théoden's funeral tomorrow, leave her be and she will be back in the morning."

"Then I will stay with her during the night. Give me a clue so that I may look myself," said Glorfindel. Aragorn canted his head at the Elf, studying him.

"Look to the east," he said eventually. "I will tell you no more."

Dídauar sat before two green tombs, lightly running the pad of her thumb over the petals of the white Simblemynë flower she cradled in her hand.

"We won my friends," she said, a small smile on her lips. "The war is _finally_ over. And yes, your country is still in one piece. Mostly. Meduseld is in _serious_ need of having the gold polished and Helm's Deep is missing a few bricks, but they are still standing tall and proud. We lost so many little ones though. I'm sure Théodred is running you ragged already and I am sure you have finally met Boromir. Whatever you do, do _not_ leave that pair alone together. They are worse at pulling pranks than my own brothers and they were ten when I last saw one of their tricks. Théoden and Denethor should keep them in line though, _if_ they can be dragged away from their chessboard. Do you know there is still a game set up mid-play in a corner of the Hall? Erestor is itching it finish it – he took one look at the board as saw that the blacks were two moves away from winning – but he doesn't want to disturb the cobwebs. Said something about the gossamer threads giving the set an ethereal beauty, like a moment caught in time. I personally think it's because he's scared of evicting some spiders. Who would have thought, the brave, battle hardened Councillor of Imladris, who can bring even the most obnoxious of petitioners to their knees with a few well chosen words is scared of spiders.

"Éomer is King now, Théodwyn's son. He is ruthless but fair, just like his parents. Rohan will prosper under him, all he needs to do now is find a bride. I think the daughter of Dol Amroth has caught his eye but he is so in awe of her father, he might need a bit of persuasion. And Éowyn is following in her grandfather's footsteps. She is leaving for Gondor and marriage come the spring. I know it's not the traditional year's engagement but I have never seen a couple more in love. I would marry them tomorrow if it were in my power. I wish you could see her, she is so beautiful. She has Éomund's honey coloured hair but everything is from Théodwyn, from the colour of her eyes to her personality. I almost thought it was Théodwyn we found unconscious on the battlefield, they both do the armour of Rohan proud."

'Kalya!' yelled a familiar voice suddenly, interrupting Dídauar's monologue. The Dúnedain jerked her head up, listening for the call again.

'Kalya, where are you?'

"I have to go," whispered Dídauar to the tombs before her, moving into a crouch as she waited for yet another call so that she could exact Glorfindel's location. "I will return as soon as I can."

'This is no time for games, Kalya. The sun will set in two hours and it is safer to return to Edoras,' called Glorfindel again. Dídauar snapped her in the direction of the voice, finding Glorfindel searching just under half a mile away from her.

"Namárië, mellon nîn" muttered Dídauar before springing off quick as a gazelle and as silently as a mouse between the surrounding burial mounds before reaching the plains and heading for a rocky outcrop about two miles north of Edoras where she, Aragorn, Eadwig and Cempa had often retreated when the atmosphere of the city became too oppressive for any of them. No one had ever found them there, making Dídauar feel safe in her solitude. _(Farewell, my friends)_


	34. The Journey Home

**Notes, Warnings **_**etc**_

This chapter is over 4500 words.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four -  
The Journey Home Is More Than Just Putting  
One Foot In Front Of The Other**

Glorfindel did not find Dídauar that night, as Aragorn and Erkenbrand had warned him would be the case. He returned to Edoras an hour after sundown and not in the best of tempers. Erestor had ended up with the task of calming the warrior down, the Imladrian Councillor having known Glorfindel from before the fall of Gondolin. The result was a haggard Erestor and an ill-tempered Glorfindel arriving for breakfast but both were professional enough not to let the rest of the party see the full extent of their emotions. Much to everyone's surprise, Dídauar had not returned to Edoras that morning and come the time for Théoden's funeral, she was still nowhere to be found. Even if they were panicked by such a turn of events, no one could do anything about it, it being highly impolite and incredibly disrespectful to miss the funeral of the Rohirric King for the sake of a runaway warrior.

Retracing the steps that had brought the fallen King to the Hall of Meduseld, Éomer, Gamling, Erkenbrand, Elfhelm, Grimbold and Éothain placed the litter on a golden bier which would bare the King on his final journey from the Golden Hall to the Barrowfield. Beside him rode Merry, the young Esquire once more clutching Théoden's weapons and his face a mask of such sorrow that not even the greatest of jesters could imitate it. Éomer and Éowyn led the procession, his face a mask of sobriety, hers, one of deep pain, though both managed to maintain control of their emotions. Behind them followed their guests, Gondorian, Hobbit and Elven, while the Dúnedain lingered around the fringes, not used to such formality for funeral rituals and feeling out of place. As Théoden was laid in his tomb, Gléowine once more struck up a song for his King which was taken up by the Rohirrim as the door was closed across the mound and the women and children came forward with Simblemynë to cast across the grave. Only Théodred's mound would remain thus unmarked, instead baring the banner of his people and the arms that had been used to defend them.

It was as Éomer was making his announcement to the people that Éowyn was to marry Faramir come the spring that Aragorn sensed a new presence at the fringe of the crowd. Turning his head, he caught sight of Dídauar standing in the shadow, her arms folded and her head bowed in what could be assumed was prayer. As though she sensed she had been caught, she glanced up and her eyes met with Aragorn's. The Gondorian King held out his hand to her, beseeching her to join the crowd by Dídauar shook her head slightly, motioning to the rest of the Dúnedain. Aragorn inclined his head in understanding – it was his job to act as the dignitary while Dídauar would remain with her people, on the outskirts of the unfamiliar setting, to offer a source of familiarity if nothing else. Before the younger twin could slip back into the shadows, Aragorn signed something else and Dídauar gifted him with a gentle smile and a nod of agreement.

* * *

That night, there was a feast in honour of Théoden's name and life for, as Elrond had told Éomer, Théoden had lived a full life, and lived it to the full, and had met his death in battle with such honour that he was counted among the greatest of his Sires. The Elf-Lord's words were not simply those of a wise man seeking to alleviate grief, but those of one who had lived through the darkest times of the world and who knew, and understood, the definition of honour and the making of a hero. The feast was also a celebration of the betrothal of Rohan's White Lady and the reunion of ties between the two noble states of Gondor and Rohan, with Faramir and Éowyn somehow being persuaded to take up the places of honour at the main table. _Éomer_ had used the redirection of attention to his full advantage and spent the better part of the meal speaking with Lothíriel, the daughter of Imrahil who had accompanied her father to say farewell to the late Rohirric King. Anyone would have been forgiven for believing the pair were courting, Éomer doing his utmost to appear like a proper gentlemen and King of Rohan rather than the third-marshal rider who was more used to the meals and suggestive conversation that could often be found around a campfire, but the slightly disapproving gaze with which Elphir, Imrahil's eldest son, watched their interactions would have led some to question their conclusion.

As the feasting dissolved into dancing and music, Lindir and Gléowine getting on spectacularly and insisting that the both share the task of further entertaining the guests, Aragorn left his wife in her father's care while he sought out his sister. Noticing her lingering about the edges of the Golden Hall, he made his way to her side, dodging the children and Hobbits that were careering across the floor on their bellies, imitating the flightless birds that were found in the most northern regions of the world. Aragorn was convinced that Merry and Pippin would not be popular with the mothers when they realised the state of their child's clothing but for the moment, they were left to their entertainment.

'You can't possibly be hiding from Mithrandir!' teased Aragorn by way of greeting, having noticed that the wizard was only just in their line of sight but ducking behind a pillar would hide them completely.

'You're not the one who he pesters to sing,' replied Dídauar. 'And when I have him, Erkenbrand, Lindir and Elrond all in the same room together and entertaining is on the agenda, I am quite willing to hide. Honestly, I thought Théoden and Eadwig were bad! Now, what have you done with your wife?'

'She's with Adar,' replied Aragorn. Dídauar goggled at him. 'What?'

'You haven't called Lord Elrond, or _anyone_ for that matter, Adar since you met Arwen,' replied Dídauar. She shrugged before taking a drink. 'I missed hearing it.'

Aragorn continued to look a little startled, honestly unaware that his term of address to Elrond had changed. His _behaviour_ towards Elrond hadn't changed much since he was a child – he gave him the appropriate title and gestures of greeting and farewell when they were in a formal setting and such etiquette was required _from__all_, including Arwen and the twins, but he would still impulsively hug the Elf, was more than willing to join the twins, Glorfindel and Erestor in their teasing, was not afraid to make his opinion or his emotions known to him. His feelings towards the Elf hadn't changed either so _why_ had he stopped calling him father and why did nobody feel the urge to call him on it?

'Estel?' asked Dídauar, realising that Aragorn wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to what was going on around him.

'Sorry, did you say something?' asked Aragorn as he jerked back to reality.

'Only that I was contemplating joining the Hobbits in their attempt to polish the floor,' replied Dídauar with a grin. Aragorn raised an eyebrow in response. 'Seriously, where were you?'

'I didn't realise I'd changed,' said Aragorn quietly. Dídauar blinked at him. 'Why did nobody tell me?'

Dídauar shrugged. 'Everyone thought it was natural. You'd spent nearly thirty years away from Imladris and in the company of Men. You'd fallen in love with the only daughter of your foster-father, it was assumed that you felt awkward calling him 'father' yourself.'

'And nobody thought it was odd that you continued to use the name?'

'If they did, they never spoke to me about it,' replied Dídauar, setting her cup down as the minstrels picked up a familiar jig. 'Do you remember this?'

'I remember a lot of bruises,' said Aragorn as the warriors swarmed into the centre of the hall that had been cleared for the dancing and additional entertainment. Anyone with knowledge of this particular dance moved well out of the way, grabbing stray children and Hobbits as they went.

'Very few of which actually appeared on _you_,' grinned Dídauar. Aragorn chuckled and allowed his twin to drag him into the middle of throng of warriors to be greeted with a loud cheer, not least from Éomer and Erkenbrand.

The feasting and celebration continued long into the night, resulting in a vast majority of the children and the four Hobbits finding a shadowy corner to curl up in when it appeared none of the 'big people' were going to be finishing any time soon. At some point, someone had collected a few blankets and spread them across the huddled mass, both child and Hobbit using each other as pillow, mattress and blanket. Gimli had once more keeled over where he sat and it took two of the Rohirric warriors to move him over to where the youngsters slept. Most of the Elves bid goodnight to their hosts before things descended too far into chaos while the Dúnedain had retreated out into the grounds of Edoras. Éomer had offered them rooms in the Golden Hall but they had declined the offer, claiming that they were far more used to, and comfortable with, having the sky for a ceiling and the stars and moon for light. Éomer had not pressed them, understanding that it was often difficult for seasoned warriors to be comfortable in more 'civil' surroundings. He himself still had difficulty sleeping in the King's chambers and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was still doubting his ability to rule his people as the successor to his uncle.

* * *

The guests remained with Éomer for four days and pressure from their respective council members saw Aragorn and Éomer quickly being pulled into political discussions, much to their displeasure. This left Éowyn to act a predominant host to the remaining visitors, something which she would have managed with ease had she not such a fear of the Elven members of the party. All except the youngest members of the Elven guard took pity on the young woman and if they did notice her hesitancy, they did not draw attention to it. However, it did not bode well for her future as the wife to Gondor's Steward if she could not even stand in the presence of her Queen without shaking like a newborn lamb struggling to maintain its balance. It was Culas, who had taken quite a shine to the Shield-Maiden, that managed to calm her enough so that she could at least talk to the Elves without physically portraying her fear and the young woman was grateful. Dídauar paid another visit to the graves of her former champions and Théoden, though this time she had the sense to take Glorfindel with her. She wasn't concerned with her own safety but when Erestor had told of the state the Balrog-slayer had worked himself into the night before the funeral, she decided that she would spare everyone's sanity _providing_ Glorfindel was nothing more than a silent guard.

The morning of fourth day following Théoden's funeral saw the Hobbits, Dúnedain, Elves and Aragorn's Gondorian guard depart from their host, their mounts laden with provisions enough for their respective journeys home. At the breaking of their fast that morning, Éomer had extended the hand of friendship to all of those now leaving but even he realised that the time of the Elves was ending and that only a handful of those before him would return. Merry was pulled aside by his King shortly before the riders set out but what was said in their conversation would remain between them unless Merry chose to retell the story. No one missed the finely wrought horn that was settled against his hip as they set out but while the warriors were polite enough not to hound the creature with questions, his fellows pestered him for details and the story behind the gift. Merry told them very little, only that Éowyn had wished him to have the horn. Faramir, Imrahil, Culas and Arwen were not among the number setting out however, the four electing to stay in Rohan. Elphir and Lothíriel also stayed behind but Amrothos opted to travel with the company. Similarly to his cousin, the fair-haired son of Imrahil was enamoured by anything Elven or Númenorean and he fired question after question at the Elves and the Dúnedain like an eager schoolboy, listening with rapt attention to the stories of old that were willingly recounted around the campfire or during the ride.

The company presently came to Helm's Deep, the stone fortress once more restored to its former glory at the hands of those Dunlendings who had been spared by Théoden following their defeat four months previously. The Dunlendings were not to be found around the Keep which was probably just as well since not all the Rohirrim had yet forgiven them for their attack. While the resident warriors of Helms Deep set about housing their guests within the Keep, Gimli had dragged Legolas off to the hidden caves where they remained unseen and unheard from for at least a day. What words passed between them there remain unrecalled but upon remerging, Legolas was jokingly demanding that they journey to Fangorn immediately so that they could settle yet another score between them. On a more sombre visit, Haldir and Rúmil, along with the Elven twins, retraced the steps to the wall where Orophin had made his last stand against the Enemy. The twins had stood with their heads bowed, one arm folded across their chests as they sent another pray to the Valar for Orophin's soul. Haldir stood beside them but counterpoint to the twins, his face was cast up to the clear August sky, tears falling silently as he silently spoke words of farewell that he had not managed until now. Rúmil however, had dropped to his knees almost immediately and his body shook with grief as he unintentionally recalled Orophin's last moments. The youngest of the four Elves could not yet bring himself to fully release his brother's spirit because that meant acknowledging that the bond they had shared from Orophin's birth was permanently severed. For over 2000 years, there had been another soul to dance in sync with his own and Rúmil could not yet bring himself to admit that he now danced alone. All left them to their grief and remembrance, only Celeborn daring to approach as the moon climbed to her peak, bidding them all to return to the Keep and to recall Orophin's _life_ rather than his death.

The morning after their arrival saw Dídauar once more vanishing from the main contingent though this time she did not go alone. Together with Gamling and Aragorn, she went to the burial site of those who had fallen during the battle of Helm's Deep. Neither twin had served with many of the fallen Rohirrim but Dídauar had heard tales about of many of them from Théodred and subsequently passed them on to Aragorn. It wouldn't have mattered though, the twins were there to recall the sacrifice of the many who had made one last desperate attempt to protect their people from an enemy that offered only two choices – surrender or die – and to honour the names of those who had inevitably ensured their ascension to the Throne of Gondor. Gamling had collapsed similarly to Rúmil upon arriving at Háma's grave and neither twin hesitated in offering the proud warrior the comfort that he would not ask for but which he was desperately seeking. It was as they sat together at the grave that Dídauar learnt how Háma had taken over her duties after she had departed Edoras and had taken Gamling under his wing following the death of the younger warrior's parents. The twins also learnt that, together with Grimbold and Théoden, the former Royal Guard had striven to keep the names of Faerlain and Thorongil alive in Rohan and, while the latter held more acclaim in Gondor, the name of former had been repeatedly raised around a campfire and within the Golden Hall itself, the names of the twin warriors were uttered with an air of hope surrounding them. Aragorn had returned to the Keep around noon to check on the Dúnedain and the remaining members of the Fellowship, while Dídauar stayed with Gamling, the warrior not quite ready to make his final farewells to his mentor and friend. The two warriors remained by the gravesite until the sun retreated behind the mountains and a harsh summer wind whipped around the cove, sometimes sharing their memories of the fallen guard, others just sitting in silence, lost in their own memories that they felt to private to share.

On the twenty-second day of August, the remaining company of Elves, Men and Hobbits arrived at Isengard where they were met by Treebeard, much to Merry and Pippin's delight. The grounds surrounding Orthanc were no where near their full glory but they were no longer scared by the machinery of war and the flood water had been redirected into a running stream that encircled the black tower. Instead, much to Legolas' and the twins (both sets) delight, there was evidence that trees were returning to the former stronghold of Saruman, forming orchards and copses. Treebeard was equally optimistic about the prospect and rambled on at great length about it as well as praising the deeds that the company had carried out in Gondor and Mordor, for he was well informed of all the goings on in the world even after war had departed his sight. While accepting the praise, and giving thanks of their own, the company received some startling news – Saruman had been allowed to go free. While some greeted the news with an exclamation of "What?!" and accused Treebeard of slipping in his duty and yet others accused him of growing bored with his task and releasing the fallen wizard was his way of relieving himself of an unwanted burden, Gandalf sat patiently astride Shadowfax as Treebeard to explain. And explain Treebeard did, in the manner of a child wanting nothing more than an adult to understand why they took a particular course of action and with a lot more haste than had previously been seen from the ancient Ent.

"Alas, he has yet to lose the power of his voice," sighed Gandalf. "He has outwitted even you, Treebeard. But, even the wise have been known to fallen foul of his honeyed tongue and what has been done cannot be undone."

"Tarcil!" yelled Dídauar suddenly, startling those around her. The young commander appeared quickly at her side, wearing a look of both confusion and concern.

"Take Nemír and one other, _not_ Arahael, back to Helms Deep. Send a message to Hinor," she ordered in a low voice, aware of the Hobbits that were well within hearing range had she spoken normally and she did not wish to panic them. "Have him strengthen the patrols around The Shire. Rohan and Gondor are beyond Saruman's reach now and he will know that. The Shire however is still vulnerable and he will wish to do injury to those he sees as having contributed to his fall from grace. And warn him to be vigilant, Saruman knows how we work. Warn him that an attack will come when least expected."

"Yes Captain," said Tarcil, saluting Dídauar and, signalling to Nemír and Calemir, he remounted. Waiting just long enough for his companions to mount as well, he rode out of Isengard with decidedly more haste than he entered. When Dídauar turned her attention back to the main group, Quickbeam was leaning towards Aragorn as Treebeard continued to speak, addressing first Aragorn and then the Elven members of the company, particularly the contingent from Lothlórien.

"It is time to repay a debt laddie," said Gimli, turning to Legolas. The Mirkwood Elf bowed his head in agreement but they were the only members of the party who accepted Treebeard's offer to travel to Fangorn once more.

"And so ends the Fellowship," said Aragorn quietly, sounding mournful as he did so. Not that the Quest was successfully completed but that the company formed eight months previously was parting ways.

"In name only," said Legolas, crouching before the King. "But bounds have been formed that will not fall victim to time or distance."

"We will visit when our Lords permit," promised Gimli. "Legolas to tend your gardens and I to instruct your stone masons."

"I will look for your coming," vowed Aragorn and embraced both the Dwarf and Elf before the pair mounted Arod.

'Namárië, mellyn nîn. Nen vaer a lalaith veren ir i lû tôl a adgevedim,' said Legolas, offering the company one last salute that was returned by the Elves and the twins, before kicking Arod into a trot which extended into a gallop as the stallion once more reached the plains of Rohan. _(Farewell my friends. __Sweet water and joyous laughter till next we meet)_

* * *

The remaining members of the company made their way south to the Gap of Rohan where Aragorn reigned Roheryn to a stop.

"This is where we must part," he said, casting a pained look in Dídauar's direction. The King was not the only one who looked stricken by the separation. It was nearly a year since the foursome of Hobbits had been discovered in Bree being far more careless than they should have been considering the burden that they carried. Aragorn had readily placed himself as their protector and despite the fact that they had been separated from Rauros, he had never let them down.

"It is only farewell should you wish it," said Dídauar, her words meant for both Aragorn and the Hobbits as Aragorn stepped down from his mount. The Gondorian King chose to address the matter of the Hobbits rather than his own.

"You forget my dear Hobbits, that my realm also lies in the North," he said with a small smile, the height of ponies that the four were riding meaning that they were eye-level with one another rather than the Man towering over them. His embraced each of them in turn before stepping back and speaking to them all.

"While I do not journey there _now_, one day I shall return. And Pippin? You are still a knight in the Army of Gondor. You are on leave for the moment but there may come a day when I require your services once more."

"Once a silver-and-black always a silver-and-black," murmured the youngest of the four, glancing between Aragorn and Dídauar. Both twins chuckled while Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"It is a high honour, master Took," the Istari said. "And one that is not readily forgotten by those who bestowed it. But come, it is getting late and Aragorn should return at least to Isengard before the Sun disappears completely."

"But it is alright for us to travel by moonlight?" muttered Merry as Aragorn moved to bid farewell to the Lothlórien Elves. "_What_ is his obsession with travelling in the dark?"

"You do not wish to camp on the Gap of Rohan, Merry," said Elladan, startling the sandy-haired Hobbit. "Here is where the wind is harshest and even the sturdiest of Elven warriors seek other refuse."

"Ah," was all Merry said, slightly embarrassed that his comment had been overheard. Elladan gave the Hobbit a small smile and together with his twin and father, stepped down from his mount so that they could give Aragorn a slightly more personal farewell than traditional salutes and blessings. Between the twins however, decorum and etiquette was thrown from the proverbial window and for several moments they stood tightly held within the other's embrace, murmured endearments passing between them and a few tears splashed on to tunics. Though neither had realistically expected a different outcome, it had not stopped either of them dreaming of their twin remaining with them, either wandering the northlands or governing the southern state and know they felt the pain of this separation keenly. Only once before had they felt such anguish – fifty years ago when Aragorn had ridden from Rohan to join the army of Gondor while Dídauar's services were retained by Thengel and such a transfer had resulted in a separation spanning nearly twenty years, something which neither twin had dealt with especially well though both had learnt to erect strong barriers when in public.

'Raid gîn celin ar i 'waew chwest adel chen, muindor nîn,' murmured Dídauar. _(May your paths be green and the breeze behind you, my brother)_

'Guren niniatha nan lû i ammin achenitham,' whispered Aragorn. _(My heart shall weep until it sees you again)_

"Look for me when the crops turn golden once more under the sun," said Dídauar, pulling back.

"I will," promised Aragorn. Dídauar smiled at his weakly as she brushed away a few of his stray tears and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Aragorn returned the gesture and as though it was the sign that they had both been waiting for, they broke their embrace and stepped back to their respective companies, Dídauar swinging herself into her saddle and turning the mare in preparation to ride west. Aragorn remained on his feet for the moment.

"Farewell for now my friends," he called. "May the Valar keep you safe till next we meet."

A multitude of farewells were called back from all the company and with slightly saddened smiles and laughter, they turned to continue west. Aragorn stayed on the hilltop, slightly apart from his guard, watching the retreating backs of kith and kin, refusing to move from the hilltop until the recently departed company were out with his vision, going as far as to mount Roheryn so as to prolong visual contact. In the twilight, he saw heads turn to back to face him and he raised his hand as though to wave a final farewell, the setting Sun catching the gem stone about his neck and causing it to glint like an emerald fire. When the company had finally passed beyond his sight, Aragorn steered Roheryn around and kicked the eager stallion into trot and allowed the horse to dictate the pace which he rode after the initial start, expecting the creature to stretch into a gallop as soon as he was able. He was not disappointed and the stallion was swiftly off at a gallop, not caring whether the horses of Aragorn's guard were capable of keeping up.

Headed in the opposite direction, a chestnut coloured mare slowly meandered its way south along the Isen before turning north-west into Dunland. It was as though the horse sensed her mistress' reluctance to continue along her chosen path and was given her the opportunity to turn back before the distance between them and the eastern side of the mountains became too great. Dídauar however, resolutely rode northwards to the wild plains of Eriador. She had sworn on the name of her fallen kin that she would continue the task they had started until such time as the Valar saw fit to send her elsewhere but it was not only duty that called her northwards. As Faramir had once explained to the Lady Éowyn, while Dídauar could settle in a foreign land for a time, only in the Valley of Imladris or the rugged northlands of Eriador was she truly at home.


	35. Piece By Piece

**Chapter Thirty-Five - Piece By Piece**

It took the remaining company a further twenty-nine days to reach Rivendell. Most of the Dúnedain had been that eager to return to their homeland that they found the sedated pace the Elves had adopted, aided and abetted by the Hobbits, to be to slow. Rather than have them muttering and grumbling, and making the Hobbits feel guilty – Sam _still_ had an inferiority complex when it came to dealing with 'big people' – Dídauar had given leave for them to ride ahead at their own pace. Of the sixteen that had been travelling with her, only four remained at her side, including Arahael. After quickly scribing a missive that detailed the victory over Sauron, the deaths of their kinsmen and the subsequent changes in command structure, Dídauar placed Bronad in charge of the departing warriors and the twelve set out.

Six days ride from Isengard they had encountered Saruman, the wizard's once pristine appearance spoiled by his journeying in the wild. He had not taken kindly to Gandalf's attempts at conversation or the presence of either Dídauar or Galadriel, convinced that they had both contrived to have the warriors see him in such a decrepit manner; the Elf Sorceress because she had no love for Saruman, the Dúnadan because she yet held him responsible for the deaths of six people she counted as more than simple kith and kin. Haldir and Rúmil had completely ignored the Istari and in return he had not taunted them with Orophin's memory which was well as it was debatable whether he would have survived an attack from the brothers. Tarcil, Nemír and Calemir caught up with the company four days later, Calemir carrying a hooded messenger hawk on his shoulder.

"'Tis a gift," he had said when Dídauar had raised a questioning eyebrow. "One that Gamling has given with the hope that communication between the northlands and Rohan is not sundered as it once was."

"And what name are we to give such a gift?" Dídauar had asked with a small smile.

"Lyfgast," replied Calemir as he removed the hood and cast his arm out, encouraging the bird to take flight. "He is strong and he is swift."

"And appropriately named," chuckled Dídauar as she watched the hawk ducking and diving through the air. Calemir looked at her in confusion.

"Lyfgast. It means Air Spirit," said Dídauar. "Take care of him Calemir. The messenger hawks of Rohan are as loyal as their horses and will happily do your bidding but once that trust is broken, they are lost forever."

"I will remember," said Calemir, pushing the hawk's hood into his pocket.

* * *

Eleven days after Tarcil had rejoined the company, they reached the base of the Misty Mountains and the ruined entrance to the Mines of Moria, which were now completely inaccessible from the western side of the mountains. Here the Lothlórien host took their leave, turning southwards to the Redhorn Gate and their homeland. It was Sam who had voiced the greatest upset at this parting for the young Hobbit had been enraptured by the Golden Wood and whilst its Lord and Lady had travelled with them, he was reminded of peace and healing and a warmth that he had yet to discover elsewhere. Now that they were parting however, he felt such feelings retreat and was saddened by the knowledge that he would not feel such again.

"Do you still carry the small box I gave you at our last parting?" asked Galadriel gently. Sam nodded. "While it was of little use to you during your Quest, when you return to The Shire, you will find a use for it. The Elves maybe departing these lands but their magic will linger for years to come should the right people chose to remember."

"My Lady," murmured Sam, blushing as Galadriel pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

As Galadriel gave the more formal farewells to the company, giving advice where she thought it was needed, paying particular attention to Frodo, Tarcil and Arahael, Dídauar was accosted by Haldir and Rúmil. Haldir gave her what was becoming a standard warning to be careful and to maintain contact between herself at those dwelling on the other side of the mountain, followed by a more intimate farewell appropriate to their status as Guardian and Charge. There was nothing unusual or unexpected in their conversation or gestures but what Rúmil did _was_ surprising.

Traditionally, Silvan Elves wore a twisted braid of smooth Elven and coarse horse hair, fixed with a light varnish, around their right wrist. Attached to the braid were two equally rough talismans – one the symbol of the father's house, carved in oak, and the other the symbol of the mother's house, carved in pine. Intermarriage and the declining number of their people saw the tradition begin to fade but not in the brothers' family. Each of the brothers bore the symbol of an oak Wolf, and a pine Owl. The Wolf, though feared and considered bad luck by many of the mortals on Middle Earth, symbolised loyalty and teaching while the Owl symbolised wisdom and patience. Normally, when a parent either died or submitted to the call of the Sea, their talisman was passed to the eldest child who would keep them in remembrance of the absent parent, trying to live up to the memory they left behind and vowing to keep the token safe until they were united once more in the Blessed Realm but since Orophin had had no family other than his brothers, they had received the talisman in the stead of a child. Haldir, already carrying the his mother's talisman (his father's had been lost during the battle had claimed the Elf's life) had given Orophin's talisman to Rúmil, who had worn both braids since his return to Lothlórien from Helms' Deep but now he held the second out to Dídauar.

'Rúmil?' questioned Haldir, not exactly sure what the younger Elf was doing. The look on Dídauar's face showed that she didn't understand either.

'She is one of ours Haldir,' said Rúmil, taking Dídauar's wrist and tying the braid around it. 'Orophin felt the same way, you know that.'

'No,' protested Dídauar. She knew the significance of the braid about her wrist, having pestered Haldir for an explanation when she was twelve years old after seeing the talisman about first his wrist then Orophin's and finally Rúmil's.

'Yes,' said Rúmil, gripping Dídauar's hands. 'You wear Haldir's seal about your neck signifying you as his charge and carry the symbols of both Rohan and Gondor in a similar way. What armour you wear is embossed with the seal of Imladris and you wear the Dúnedain star woven through your hair. You may not wear them openly but you wear them with pride, all I ask is that you accept just one more token in honour of one who called you sister.'

'Rúmil, I live in the Wilds,' reminded Dídauar. 'I cannot guarantee that it will remain safe. And I am _mortal_! _How_ do you propose I return this to Orophin when he reaches the Blessed Realm?'

'That is our task to worry about,' said Rúmil. 'For now, I ask that you keep Orophin's name alive. I know that he will likely be forgotten by most come the turn of the year, but so long as those he counted as family remember him, he is not truly lost.'

'I do not need a token for that, Rúmil,' insisted Dídauar.

'No,' said Haldir, suddenly smiling. 'But they help in starting a conversation.'

'I….' began Dídauar, glancing down at her wrist before meeting Rúmil's turquoise-blue eyes once more. Rúmil smiled gently and pulled her to him in a tight embrace which became three-way when Haldir wrapped an arm around his charge and his brother.

"Haldir, Rúmil, we need to be leaving," said Celeborn as he appeared leading three horses – his own plus one each for the brothers. Reluctantly, Rúmil released the Dúnedain Captain and stepped back towards his Lord while Haldir lingered a moment more.

'Nan lû govaded vîn,' he said, smiling with an air of fatherly pride as he brushing a strand of Dídauar's hair behind her ear and pressing a kiss to her forehead. _(Until next we meet)_

'Ir i lû telitha,' agreed Dídauar, kissing Haldir's cheek and the pair broke apart, Haldir immediately swinging himself into his saddle. _(Until then)_

"The next time you come east of the mountains, let it be for something other than War or you trying to hide from the rest of the world," suggested Celeborn with a small smile, holding an arm out to the Dúnedain Captain as the rest of the train moved into formation.

"I'll try," laughed Dídauar, gripping the arm that Celeborn offered her. Celeborn laughed lightly in response.

"That is all I can ask," he said, noting the talisman around Dídauar's wrist but deciding against commenting. "I wish you luck Captain. On whatever path your life leads."

With a final grip of thanks, Dídauar released the proffered limb and stepped backwards, her eyes meeting those of Rúmil briefly, silently remaking the vow to keep Orophin's name alive. The young Elf smiled at her gently, inclining his head slightly before he, Haldir and two other guards set off a cantor to make sure that the road ahead of them was safe.

* * *

Finally, with many a relieved sigh, the company crested the hill leading down into the Valley of Imladris at midmorning on the twenty-first of September. In the distance, the waterfalls of the Bruinen could be heard thundering over the rocks while all around the trees rustled in the gentle breeze. Bird song was carried through the air, some occasionally taking flight, and the peaceful, innocent sound making the travellers smile. The lingering Dúnedain were off their horses and walking with the Hobbits as soon as they reached the borders of the forest. With Lyfgast once more flying above their heads, Tarcil, Calemir, Nemír and a few of the younger Elves started to dart among the trees beginning an impromptu game of catch. Following a dig in the ribs from Dídauar, Arahael, Milthor, Dinenion and Aravir joined the others. Merry and Pippin, not to be left out of the fun, had joined the Rangers, dragging Dídauar with them and leaving their mounts to follow the path at their own pace. As the trees around them grew thicker, Dídauar paused in her play and shared a glance with Glorfindel, grinning. Glorfindel grinned back and a quick succession of calls echoed around the forest from Dídauar, Glorfindel and the twins. They were quickly returned, one sounding as though it was practically on top of them. With a quick salute to Elrond, Glorfindel ran into a thicket where he could be seen expertly scaling an ancient looking tree. 

"I heard……" began Frodo, glancing between the Elrond, his sons and Dídauar. "When I first arrived in Rivendell I heard that call. I thought it was just woodland animals!"

"To the untrained ear, it is designed to be perceived as such," replied Erestor, slipping easily into the role of teacher, chuckling as he caught a second returning call. "Kalya, Tirnel is asking how many injuries you are returning with this time. It was decided many centuries ago that to have warriors carry instruments on patrol would be cumbersome so what you hear in Gondor and Rohan proclaimed by horn, you will hear in Imladris proclaimed by voice. What you just heard were personal calls identifying who was riding back into the Valley, as well as Glorfindel asking where the nearest scout was located."

"I heard them before I came to Rivendell," said Pippin. Dídauar chuckled causing Erestor to turn to her in question while Gandalf turned his attention to Pippin who had apparently been far more attentive than the wizard had given him credit for.

"Oh come, how do you think I knew they were in trouble?" asked Dídauar, raising an eyebrow at the Imladrian Councillor. "I do not See _everything_. My people were tracking you Pippin, from the moment you left Bag-End until the day you arrived at Amon Sûl. Once Frodo was injured, we did not shun the open road as Strider did and headed to Imladris with as much haste as the horses could manage to relay news of your plight. The Enemy was more focused on hearing conversation rather than cries of nature so it was easier, and safer, for us to communicate to each other that way."

"Why didn't you just join us rather than skulking in the shadows?" asked Sam. "We could've used an extra few swords when we got cornered. Maybe then Mr Frodo wouldn't have been hurt."

"A single fox is more difficult to track than a pack," said Dídauar. "To have the heir and the spare to Isildur as well as the Ring all within such close proximity would have been to much temptation for Sauron to resist and you would have been in even greater danger than you already were. Five riders caught you at Weathertop, the other four were seeking to rid Sauron of the other threat to his reign."

"You," said Frodo bluntly.

"My people," corrected Dídauar. "Though the Stewards of Gondor carry the blood of Númenor and are legitimate heirs to the Kingdom, the blood of the Dúnedain of the North is purer. If either Strider or myself had fallen during the War, there would always have been someone else to take our place."

"I thought Faramir was heir to Gondor after you," said Pippin, a little confused.

"Because I named him such," said Dídauar. "Just as Frodo was Bilbo's chosen heir rather than his blood heir. Had I not named another before I left Gondor, Tarcil would have been next in line until such time as Estel sires a child or names another in his stead."

"Big people lead complicated lives," said Arahael as he watched the confusion continue to furrow the brows of the Hobbits. "Much simpler to be a Hobbit."

"Here here," agreed Sam.

"Speaking of Hobbits," said Merry. "Frodo, did you ever write down your adventures or are you going to leave Bilbo disappointed on his birthday?"

"His bir……Is that really today?" asked Frodo in part panic and part amazement.

"Tomorrow," said Elrond. "At our current pace, we shall reach the House by early this evening so you have no reason to panic."

"Can't we get there a little faster? The Lady Arwen said something about Bilbo taking one last journey and I do not wish to miss him before he leaves," said Frodo. "Already I fear that I have dallied too long."

"Before I left, he stated that he will not leave Rivendell until he has seen you," said Elrond. "But, if you wish to hasten, might I suggest you ride with one of us? Do not fear for your ponies, Asfaloth will not return unless Glorfindel does and he will look after them. Should they prefer the idea of a stable to the open Valley, they will find their own way back. Unless the Dúnedain wish to linger on the borders awhile?"

"And have the Hobbits steal all the hot water?" asked Milthor. Dinenion cuffed him upside the head.

"And the best seats by the fire?" continued Aravir, ignoring Dinenion's rebuke of Milthor. Arahael slapped his arm.

"And the choice cuts of meat?" finished Calemir. Nemír caused him to trip and land on his knees in the loose soil.

"For that gentlemen," said Erestor, as he watched Merry and Frodo blush, Pippin scuff his feet and Sam try to become invisible. "They shall have the first pick at the meats, the first choice of seats in the Hall of Fire and shall be allowed as much time in the bathing chambers as they wish."

"And we are leading their mounts back to the stables," concluded Tarcil, boosting Pippin on to Shadowfax behind Gandalf whilst Arahael swung Merry on to Daeroch in front of Erestor. Elrond accepted Frodo from Dinenion and Dídauar passed the still blushing Sam to Lindir.

"Try not to tell him _everything_ in the one afternoon?" said Nemír, recalling the nights where the Hobbits had continued swapping adventures long after everyone else had retired. The Hobbits nodded.

"Until sundown," said Elrond as his horse shifted restlessly beneath him. The Dúnedain saluted the Elf who turned and set his horse into a trot, Gandalf, Lindir and Erestor falling in rank behind him and the remainder of the train following in their wake.


End file.
